


The Painted Veil

by princesskay



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Declarations Of Love, Fights, Fingering, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Symbiotic Relationship, Symbolism, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 14:09:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8404636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay
Summary: The edge of the cliff is an alluring escape, but Hannibal isn't ready to let Will go just yet





	1. Tabula Rasa

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> [](http://s1353.photobucket.com/user/glitterkitty091/media/PicsArt_11-10-08.15.10_zpskrmbyzdb.jpg.html)  
> 
> 
> Liminality is the in-between moments, the space between an inciting incident in a story and the protagonist’s resolution. It is often a period of discomfort, of waiting, and of transformation. Your characters’ old habits, beliefs, and even personal identity disintegrates. He or she has the chance to become someone completely new. [(source)](http://http://thewritepractice.com/liminality-story///)
> 
> This fic is based on the idea of liminal spaces, visually and mentally. It's also a huge pile of messy feelings, literary references, and cryptic dialogue. I was really going for something dramatic with my new - yet again - post-s3 story. Hope you all enjoy <3

Boot leather clung to the ridge of jagged, charcoal rock, balance defying the magnetic pull of gravity. The cool rush of the breeze and the rhythmic crush of ocean tide melded into a hum of white-noise. Hypnosis juxtaposed to the chaos cutting like lightning through his chest.

Will turned his head down against the wind, and stared into the abyss below him. Wind buffeted at his hair, and threatened to turn against him, plunging him to the water below at any moment. The waves were shades of gray and pine green, foaming white against the cliff. It looked cold – much colder than the Atlantic had been.

He let out a slow breath to ease the tension gathering in his shoulders. Perhaps if he closed his eyes, if he relaxed, if he left the choice to fate, the wind would pick him up and carry him over the edge without his knowledge.

He imagined the sting of below zero temperatures, and the sharp tang of salt water burning his lips. The waves rising up to push him under. The current dragging him away like rag doll. Sinking ever lower, questing for the sandy bottom of a cold, wet grave.

“Will?”

Will gasped, and jarred around. One boot slipped at the sharp edge of the cliff, and for a breathless moment, he thought he might fall out of accident rather than purpose. His chest pounded in weightless distress for a few eternal seconds before he found his footing.

He stumbled back from the edge, blinking as if awaking from a dream.

“Will?”

Dressed in a pale gray overcoat and a white scarf, Hannibal marched across the rough, uneven plane of rock. His hair tossed silver bright in the wind, and his cheeks glowed rosy under the winter gusts.

Will clenched his jaw as a surge of emotion like the swell of the tide below him filled his chest.

“What are you doing?”

Hannibal reached him just as the question barked from between his lips. A demand? A reprimand?

“Just enjoying the view.” Will said.

Hannibal regarded him with squinted eyes. In the raw wind and light, the lines around his eyes looked deeper, the blade of his lips sharper, the shape of his cheekbones like a marble statue.

“Is that all you were doing?”

Will licked his wind-chapped lips, and cast a gaze at the sea that rolled toward a slate gray horizon. The perpetual rock of the sea looked less appealing with company.

“I'm not sure.”

“It's cold.” Hannibal said, putting a hand on his elbow, “We should go inside.”

Will gave a resigned nod.

They walked side-by-side back to the door that opened at the base of the old lighthouse that towered from this tiny peninsula off the northern edge of Iceland. Rugged brick and mortar climbed towards the sky, and the black, tin roof seemed to pierce the gray clouds with it's height.

The lighthouse was defunct, and had been for many years. Will was unsure of how Hannibal had acquired it, or how long they would remain here.

Here was their new home. Here was seclusion. Here was cover from the police.

But it felt like the end of the world.

Inside the base of the lighthouse, three small rooms housed two beds, the kitchen, a bathroom, and a tiny nook with chairs facing a window. The space was either cramped or cozy, depending upon the point of view. Most days, Will found himself climbing the winding staircase to the top of the tower, or stepping beyond the stone walls to look out at the water.

As they stepped back inside, Hannibal pulled the door shut and latched it firmly.

He turned slowly to face Will, his expression placid.

“Haven't you seen enough of the ocean?” He asked.

“If you thought so, why did you bring us here?”

“Because, it is safe and secluded.” Hannibal said, “Nothing says you must go and stand at the edge.”

Will shrugged, and carded his fingers through his hair. His cheeks and fingertips tingled with the return of warmth, but his belly still quivered from the chilling wind.

“Haven't you considered it?”

“No.” Hannibal said, “And neither should you.”

Will watched with tepid annoyance as Hannibal shrugged out of his overcoat and unwound the scarf from his throat. Underneath, he was wearing a olive, cable-knit turtleneck and black slacks. He had adjusted to this locale and climate with ease while Will remained bothered by the wind, by the silence, by the unforgiving rock and the pull of the ocean tide.

Hannibal crossed the room to where Will stood, his brow knitted with concern.

“You look chilled.” He murmured, “I'll make you a cup of tea.”

Will gave a halting nod. He brought his shoulders back taut as Hannibal shifted past him. Their shoulders brushed, hardly a graze, yet the contact left his skin burning down to the bone.

Had Hannibal provided a more spacious living area for them, they might have gone days, maybe even months without touching. In the tiny rooms and narrow doorways of the lighthouse, space was an impossible ideal, yet one Will strove for daily. Each brush of their shoulders, every caress of Hannibal's hand on his elbow took Will backwards in time to that moment on the cliff when they had been much closer – too close.

He stripped out of his coat, and walked to the nook where two cushioned chairs faced the gabled window, and a small bookshelf offered temporary escape. He ran his fingertips along the spines of the books, and wrapped his fingers around _Moby Dick._

Hellishly appropriate.

He sank to the cushions of the chair, and opened the book to the first page. He'd read but a paragraph when Hannibal entered, carrying a steaming cup of tea in delicate, blue-painted china.

Will took the teacup and cast Hannibal a wan smile.

“Thanks.”

Hannibal took the chair opposite him, and nodded toward the book open Will's lap.

“ _Moby Dick._ ”

“Mm.”

“Always worth re-reading.”

“I've always been fond of the sea.” Will said, “I know this story by heart, but it looks differently now.”

“Differently how?”

“I always fancied myself to be more like Ishmael.” Will said, “Curious, empathetic – getting swept along with the tide of someone else's story.”

“And now?”

“Maybe I'm Ahab after all.”

A morose smile touched Hannibal's mouth.

“Am I your great white whale, Will?”

“You dragged me away with you. And now here we are.” Will said. He sighed as he turned his gaze to the window facing the ocean. “At the end of the world. Stuck in a vortex with only each other for what might be the rest of our lives.”

“I don't consider myself your enemy.” Hannibal said, “After all this time, is it really revenge you're still after?”

“If I wanted revenge, I wouldn't be standing at the cliff.” Will said.

“Getting ready to jump?”

“Haven't you ever stood at the edge of a great height, and wondered 'What would happen if I fell? Would I feel my bones break when I hit the bottom … or would the terror of the fall alone make my heart stop first?' I know now what happens.”

“And you can't stop thinking about it?”

“That feeling when we dropped … that weightlessness.” Will whispered, “Defying gravity for the briefest moment. It didn't frighten me like I thought it would.”

“What part of that moment do you want to recreate?”

Will rubbed a hand over his face, and glanced between his fingers at Hannibal's inquisitive expression.

“The feeling of … acceptance.” Will said, “Being at peace with it.”

“The thought of dying, of ending it all?”

“In that moment, it was the only thing that I could live with. For the brief moments that I was still living.”

“But we didn't die.”

“Yeah, um ...” Will said, grunting out a mirthless chuckle. “Some fucking cosmic joke right there.”

“What makes you think if you jumped again that you would accomplish your goal on a second try?”

Will frowned.

“Maybe you're not meant to die at sea.” Hannibal said, “You didn't die the first time because your time is not yet up.”

“That would suggest the universe is ordained. I don't believe in God, Hannibal.”

Hannibal smiled, softly. “Maybe he believes in you.”

 

~

 

When they first arrived by boat at the lighthouse, Will had been certain he would grow weary of the musical ebb and flow of the tide, of looking out at the foaming waves and the serene blue that stretched toward the horizon.

_Haven't you seen enough of the ocean?_

It was a question he had berated himself with a dozen times over even as he walked toward the edge, or stood at the top of the lighthouse where he could view the sea from miles around.

But he hadn't.

He'd always been fond of the open water. Nearly dying in it hadn't ended his appreciation, but rather changed it into morbid fascination.

Even now as he carried his tea up the winding flight of stairs to the top of the tower, he considered the weightlessness of the fall. It was never far from his mind. Even the stinging needle-like pain of the cold water, and the harsh burn of salt water in the back of his throat roused a sense of exhilaration inside him.

Will unlocked the door at the top of the staircase, and stepped out onto the balcony.

The gloaming settled purple and gray across the sky, sending shadows clinging to the far reaches of his gaze. Against a darkening sky, the emerald _Aurora Borealis_ began it's undulating dance.

Since their arrival, he'd stood here nearly every day, looking out, escaping into his thoughts. Wondering at his choices.

First and foremost, the choice to come here with Hannibal.

After months of brushing up against death and healing from their wounds, Hannibal had mentioned the future for the first time.

_“So, will you run away with me this time? Or will you simply hope that I leave you once more?”_

_“You're asking me to go with you?”_

_“Is there anything to go back to? Is there any point?”_

_“Point? Not really. What's the point in going with you?”_

_“If you go back, you'll be facing questions. Perhaps even the threat of court. With me, you'll never have to answer any questions.”_

Will was fully aware of the number of times Hannibal had lied to him, yet in some way, he had always been telling the truth. In that moment, he had believed Hannibal without a shadow of doubt.

True to his word, Hannibal hadn't questioned Will about that night on the cliff. About killing together. About his admittance – _It's beautiful._

The questions that passed between them now were trivial, or cloaked in layers of metaphor. The banter of old friends.

Will sipped down the last of his tea while he watched the sunset fade away into darkness, and the breath-taking lights of the _Aurora Borealis_ fill the black void of the sky with an ethereal glow.

Stepping up to the railing, he leaned against the wrought iron to gaze over the edge at the cold, dark rock below. White waves dashed against the stones, spraying the rock and mortar of the lighthouse with a fine mist.

At this dizzying height, Will could almost imagine that night in every way.

He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of the ocean, listening to the call of the tide. His heart pounded with the surge, a hollow, buoyant sensation behind his ribs.

Will jarred at the metallic rattle of the door behind him swinging open.

Hannibal stepped out onto the small balcony. Without speaking, he joined Will at the railing, and gazed over the edge, at the great height that separated them from rock and ocean.

The swell of the tide filled the silence between them, until at last, Hannibal turned his gaze from the horizon.

“Will you drop it?” He asked.

Will looked down at the delicate tea cup cradled in his hand.

“Is there any point?” He whispered, “If I shatter it, it won't come back together again.”

“How do you know?”

“What happened, happened. I can't change that anymore than you could change what you did to Abigail, to me … to Mischa.”

“You don't know unless you try.”

“I don't find any therapeutic value in shattering tea cups.” Will said. He offered the tea cup to Hannibal. “But I won't stop you.”

Hannibal regarded the tea cup for a long moment, before drawing in a deep breath and turning his gaze back to the ocean.

“I no longer have agency over you, Will.” He said, “You've outgrown your strings. You're not a wooden boy, given life only by your creators hands any longer.”

“Pinocchio was given flesh and blood for good deeds. I've done nothing of the sort.”

“And yet, the choices are all yours now. If you want to change the past, Will, it has to be your choice, not mine.”

“You have no interest in changing the past. You've gotten what you wanted.”

“And what is that?”

“My willingness. My … becoming.”

“Locked in a lighthouse, dreaming of defenestration at your own hands. This, Will, is hardly what I wanted for you.”

“What did you expect? After the Dragon was dead, and the blood was on my hands, what did you expect? Something romantic, I'm sure.”

“Romance.” Hannibal murmured. “My idea of romance doesn't fit with yours, Will. That's why we'll never have it.”

“But you'd like to pretend that we could.”

“There is some romance to it, isn't there?” Hannibal asked, smiling softly. “Here you are, locked in the tower, awaiting true love to set you free … while the dragon guards the door.”

“You cast yourself as the dragon.” Will said with a low chuckle. “That's hardly romantic.”

“I prefer to be honest.”

Will frowned. He gazed down at the teacup for a moment before thrusting his hand over the edge of the railing. The teacup dangled by his grip on the slender handle, the fine china glinting in the moonlight.

Hannibal's head canted to the side in curiosity.

“You've changed your mind?”

Will swallowed hard, and opened his fingers. As the teacup slipped from between his thumb and forefinger, he crowded up against the railing to watch is race toward the ground. The white china caught shafts of moonlight as it twirled through the open air.

The landing came with a sudden crack. From this height, the splintering of the cup was barely visible, but Will heard the sound of breaking china reverberating through his skull.

“Is there any point?” Hannibal asked.

“I had to try.” Will said, staring over the edge of the railing at the rocks below.

“Why?”

Will grunted a chuckle. “Why do you think?”

“You want to change the ending.” Hannibal said, “The ending you dreamed up turned out to not be an ending at all – but a new beginning.”

“We were supposed to die.”

“I thought you didn't believe in God.”

“I believed in myself.” Will said, “One last act of reciprocity. It was going to finally be over.”

“Those waves didn't bring death. They brought metamorphosis, Will.”

Will cast Hannibal's a narrowed gaze.

“ _Tabula rasa._ ” Hannibal whispered, “Will, we could be different. This is only one version of reality. Wouldn't you rather believe in fate than a great, cosmic joke?”

“That this was meant to be?”

“Yes. Water has transformative aspects, and perhaps we weren't killed, but remade into something new and whole.”

“Rebirth?” Will said.

“The fall didn't kill us.” Hannibal said, “It made us immortal, Will. We can go, and do, and see whatever we wish. We could do it together.”

“You're asking me to forget everything you've done to me.” Will said, “Everything I've lost because of you.”

“Some things are transient in your life. They're only meant to be there for a time, to teach a lesson. Other things will be with you forever.”

“You're talking about yourself.”

“Yes. Everything else was washed away with the sea.”

“Not my scars.” Will said, “I'll carry those, and the memories attached to them forever.”

“We all have scars. You should always remember who gave you the best of them. They remind you that the past was real.”

“I was under the impression you wanted me to forget the past is real.”

“I don't want you to forget. We are who we are because of those scars. I'm asking you to remember the difference between the past and the future.”

“I can make of it what I will?”

“Yes. And standing at the edge of the water and thinking about jumping isn't a choice.”

“It would be a choice if I did jump.”

“Will you?”

Hannibal's gaze settled against Will's cheek with burning intensity.

Will rubbed both hands over his face. His fingers were icy cold from the wind, his cheeks raw and chapped. Everything ached, but the wind was the least of his pain.

“Only if I took you with me.” He whispered.

“I can't let you do that.” Hannibal said, “I'm not ready to give up.”

“Is that what you consider it? Giving up?”

“Death can be a cure.” Hannibal said, “But not for you, Will. What you're seeking isn't medicinal.”

“So what if I gave up? Haven't I fought the good fight? Haven't I suffered enough?” Will asked, snapping an angered gaze to Hannibal's placid expression.

Hannibal touched his arm, a simple brush of his fingertips that burned through the fabric of Will's sweater and into his flesh and bone.

“Never.” He murmured.

Will turned his back to the railing as Hannibal left the edge, and pulled open the door leading back down into the staircase.

Tears clutched at his throat, but his eyelashes were dry. He was beyond broken. Nothing more could force him lower than he already was.

 

~

 

Days, even weeks, could pass before they spoke a complete sentence to each other. Moments when the moratorium lifted were few and far between.

After their discussion on the balcony, Will ached as if he had taken a beaten. Conversation which had once come so easily between them now came painfully, each sentence like the poke of a needle weaving through his skin.

The next morning, Will shuffled out of the bedroom to find Hannibal cooking breakfast, as was his routine. This morning, he looked different to Will. Less of the Dragon guarding the tower door, more the distraught prince in the midst of battle.

Will bit his lower lip as he sat down on the table, and sipped his coffee.

Hannibal finished breakfast, and set a plate before Will.

“How did you sleep?” He asked.

“Well, thank you.”

Hannibal turned back to the stove to portion out his own plate.

Will dug into the mound of fluffy, scrambled eggs, eager to ignore the dull ache in his chest.

Hannibal sat down across from him.

The clink of silverware, and the sound of chewing brimmed just above the tension between them.

Hannibal cleared his throat.

“Have you considered our conversation any further?” He asked.

The food turned to a thick lump in the back of Will's throat. He grabbed his glass of water to swallow back the tasteless clod of eggs.

Rising from the table, he took his empty plate to the sink and dropped it in with a clatter.

“You promised me you wouldn't ask questions.” He said, “Let's keep it that way.”

Will spun on his heel, and marched to the front door. Grabbing his coat from the hook, he shoved the door open, and turned his head down against the blast of wind. He didn't look back at Hannibal's dour expression as he faced the unforgiving rock, and the icy gust of the winter breeze.

Will's boot struck something fragile, producing a loud crunch and grind of china against stone. Will's gaze dropped and snagged on the shattered pieces of the tea cup he had dropped the night before. Hardly a section of the cup was intact. The great height had shattered it into a thousand tiny pieces.

Grunting out his irritation, he kicked a few shards away from his boot and resumed his march toward the sea.

Just behind the lighthouse, a few weathered steps led down to a tiny dock that offered just enough space for one vessel.

Will took the boat out “to stretch her legs” every few days. Keeping the boat in perfect condition was a good excuse for disappearing out into the ocean for hours on end.

Will untied the moorings, and climbed aboard.

The motor purred, fine-tuned and running smoothly from all his attention and tender loving care.

Lifting the sails, Will guided the boat out into the cold, choppy waves surrounding their tiny peninsula. Had the ocean been smaller, it could have been their own empire.

Will jarred the thought from his brain with a shake of his head.

Clutching the smooth steel of the wheel, he focused on the water ahead, and the promise of escape.

He sailed for some time, always keeping a sliver of land within sight. The roll of the waves around him provided a rhythmic, soothing song that calmed his heart and mind. He gazed out to where the gray line of the horizon and the icy blue of the sea met, imagining the ends of the world somewhere out there. Perhaps if he kept sailing he found the edge, and fall off into the abyss. If only it was the long, breathlessness of a great fall.

Will didn't check his watch, but he was aware that a substantial amount of time had passed as the sun reached it's afternoon peak and slowly began to slip down the other side. The wind picked up, plucking at hair and the ends of his scarf, and sending a bone-chilling cold straight through him.

Turning back toward the shore, Will saw the roll of dark storm clouds bearing down on the pinpoint of the lighthouse. The land was shrouded in the dark approach of foul weather, and the sweet taste of precipitation tainted the air. It smelled of snow and wind, of icy cold water and the threat of crashing.

Breath catching and heart thudding, Will grabbed the rigging to turn the boat back to shore. He brought the sails to full mast, and took manual control of the boat.

The boat puttered across the water at an unsatisfactory pace, impeded by the wind blowing against them.

Muttering his annoyance, Will set the autopilot again, and wrestled to set the sails in the right direction to capture the wind. The motor could bring him to shore on it's own, but with foul weather approaching, any bit helped.

Will squinted as the boat approached the shore. Just ahead, the billowing, gray clouds descended on the lighthouse with all their fury, unleashing a gusting wave of blinding snow. Flakes gusted across the water to meet the boat before he had even reached the brunt of the storm.

In a matter of minutes, the storm had evolved to a howling monster, spitting a deluge of snow and wind. The waves caught the wind, and tossed at the boat, tugging it to and fro against Will's grasp on the wheel.

Will squinted and hissed at the snowflakes raced against his cheeks like flying needles. The storm was evolving into a white-out, and he could hardly make out the murky shape of the lighthouse just ahead.

Operating by instinct alone, Will eased off the motor to guide the boat into moorings that he could hardly see. The pier emerged from the fog, sooner than he'd expected. Clamping down on the break, he winced as the bow of the boat jolted against land. Gravity dragged the boat back into the waves, and Will guided it into place with cold, shivering hands locked around the wheel.

Just as he shut off the engine, a muted voice cut through the wind.

Will's eyes crinkled against the wind and snow to make out Hannibal's figure ducked against the wind. Hannibal made his way to the edge of the pier with his head down against the wind, and his hands clutched his coat across his chest. He'd left the lighthouse in a hurry, and with neither hat nor gloves, the wind and snow was making quick work of his exposed skin.

He shouted something that was quickly lost to the howl of the wind, but Will could make out that he wanted Will to toss him the ropes to tie the boat ashore.

Head down against the biting cold, Will found the coiled ropes at the edge of the boat, and tossed them over and onto the pier. As Hannibal knelt down to knot the ropes to the dock, Will dragged himself over the edge and onto the wood slats of the pier.

The scream of the wind prevented them from communicating as they struggled to tie the wildly rocking boat safely to it's moorings. As the more experienced boater, Will managed to tie down his rope faster. He crawled across the pier to where Hannibal knelt, and took the rope from Hannibal's cold, trembling fingers.

With the snow swirling around them, Will could hardly see Hannibal's expression. It could have been angered, it could have been sad.

Will finished tying down the rope, and pushed himself to his feet. Swaying against the surge of the wind, he offered his hand to Hannibal.

Hannibal clutched onto his hand, and they both threw their strength into dragging him to his feet. They stumbled down the pier to dry land, hands locked together to maintain balance against the gale.

Clambering up the small set of stairs, they made it to the level of land where the lighthouse sat, several yards ahead. Will gripped Hannibal's hand tighter, and led the way to the lighthouse door that emerged from the veil of snow like a miraculous offering of safety.

Will grabbed the handle with frozen fingers, and twisted the door open. Grunting and panting, they tumbled over the threshold at once and into the warmth of the lighthouse. Will slammed the door shut behind them, muting the deafening wail of the wind.

He leaned against the door with his eyes shut, steadying his breathing. Every inch of his body trembled with the cold, all the way to his insides.

“Where … where did that come from?” He panted.

When Hannibal didn't respond, he cracked his eyes open to see Hannibal shrugging out of his coat with a scowl etched on his brow.

“You didn't have to come out, you know.” Will said.

“Didn't I?”

Will's chest clenched at the cutting note in Hannibal's voice.

“After our discussion,” Hannibal said, his voice softening, “I thought perhaps ...”

Will's frown faded as realization struck him.

“You thought I was gone.” He finished Hannibal's sentence in a whisper.

“We've been here for several months now.” Hannibal said, “You could have gone any time you wanted to, but I thought last night may have been the final straw for you.”

Will let his gaze sink to the ground. He shook his head.

“If anything, last night made me realize why I _can't_ leave.”

Hannibal considered Will's remark with a slow nod.

Will expected more questions, but Hannibal left the entryway silent.

Will peeled off his damp coat and scarf, and followed Hannibal into the bedroom where Hannibal knelt before the fireplace, arranging a few logs and crumpled newspaper underneath them for starter in the fireplace. Striking a match, he nestled the flame into the newspaper, and watched as the fire consumed the paper and bit into the logs.

He rose to his feet, and motioned for Will to stand in front of the heat of the fire.

“Put on some dry clothes.” He suggested. “I'll make tea.”

Will nodded.

As Hannibal brushed past him, Will closed his eyes against the familiarity of the exchange.

Was this routine to be the rest of his life? Putting himself in danger, only to have Hannibal pull him back from the edge with the comfort of warm touch, and the offer of tea and therapy?

Part of him wished Hannibal would scold him instead. At least that way, Will would know his true intentions. Hannibal had always been effective at punishing him in much subtler ways. The silent pain in his eyes at the thought of Will leaving this place was a guilt-trip enough to shove Will far away from such plans.

Will took a clean pair of jeans and a sweater from the armoire, and began stripping out of his damp clothes.

As he stepped into the jeans, he shifted closer to the fireplace to absorb the warmth radiating from the flames. He paused with the sweater in his hands and his eyes closed, enjoying the heat rolling across his bare skin.

The creak of a floorboard pulled him around. Will's heart jolted in his chest as his eyes came to rest on Hannibal, standing in the doorway with two cups of tea.

He hastily tugged the sweater over his head, ignoring the almost tangible pulse of Hannibal's gaze chasing after the last bits of exposed skin before the sweater fell around his hips.

Hannibal crossed the room, and offered Will his tea without a remark. The silence between them spoke more than any words they could conjure, that much Will was certain of. The inky darkness and unadulterated appreciation in Hannibal's gaze was of a nature they never breached with something so ungainly as conversation.

Will took the tea, and sipped before the steaming liquid had a chance to cool. He swallowed back a hiss of pain as the tea burnt the tip of his tongue.

“I often think about the past, and wonder at it's simplicity, don't you?” Hannibal asked, his voice breaking the silence in nostalgic whisper.

“Simplicity?”

“The old routines and mundane tasks that we clung to, to define us that are now as foreign as a new language on your tongue.” Hannibal said, “They seem so simple and banal in retrospect.”

“The present isn't so great either.” Will said.

“What could be more simple than two people, sequestered from the world, with no one to speak to or interact with but each other? Like Adam and Eve, at the dawn of time ….This was the thought I had when I brought us here.”

Will's shoulders tensed at the biblical metaphor, and the following question of who would fulfill the role of the first Man, and who the Mother of all Creation.

He said, “You wanted to isolate me.”

“I wanted to make me your only lifeline to reality.” Hannibal said, “Yet, I should have recalled, you do well creating your own reality by yourself.”

“It's not as simple as you thought it would be.”

“It never was. I suppose I thought with all else familiar stripped away, you would have nowhere left to turn.”

“I was ripe for the taking.” Will said, with a sigh.

“I was.” Hannibal countered in a low whisper. “I didn't see my own vulnerability.”

“I'm shocked you're admitting that you have vulnerability.”

“You changed me, just as much as I changed you. I suppose there's no point in hiding that fact any longer.”

“Part of you is dependent on me.” Will said, “And part of me is dependent on you. We've woven ourselves together.”

“If you tried to leave, I would have to kill you.”

Will's gaze spun from the fireplace to Hannibal's stony expression. He nodded.

“And if you tried to leave, I would have to kill you.” He echoed.

“Conjoined, I think is the word you used.”

“Yes.”

“That's why you haven't jumped.” Hannibal said, “Why you'll never jump.”

“Not unless we find ourselves together on another cliff.”

“You succeeded the first time.”

“No,” Will said, grinding out a chuckle. “I didn't.”

“You wanted the Dragon to change me.” Hannibal said, “You wanted him to take my power so that I couldn't hurt anyone around you again.”

“I wanted to protect my family.”

“You were selfish. You wanted to protect yourself. Suicide is the enemy. Murder-suicide … a possible solution.”

“But it wasn't.”

“You did succeed in one thing, however.”

“And that was?”

“Taking my power.” Hannibal murmured. “Now that we're conjoined, what are we without each other? Ghosts of beings passed that thought much too highly of themselves.”

“Don't pretend your narcissism will ever change.” Will said, “I know you. And narcissism is dependent upon autonomy.”

“When we nearly died together, we resigned autonomy.”

“I don't believe you.” Will whispered.

“If this truly is to be a knew life, we must leave our old ones behind.” Hannibal said, “I've tried to lay my burdens at the exit of my past existence.”

“It's not that easy.”

“Letting go is like forgiveness in that way. You can't consciously do it; it simply happens.”

“Both have happened to you?”

“And continue to happen. Change is the only constant in this world; as such, it's always happening. We either change with it, or we are left in the dust, forgotten by the world – and the ones we most care about.”

“I have no place to lay my burdens down.” Will said, “Nowhere that won't drag me back to them.”

“You meant to leave them on that cliff when we took the plunge.”

“Meant to. Didn't succeed.”

“You put everything into that jump. You were running away.”

“I'm still running.”

“You've been running from me, from the truth about yourself for some time. Aren't you tired of it?”

  
Will rubbed his thumb against the sleek, slender rim of the tea cup. He focused on the bloom of steam swirling from the tea, and radiating heat against his cheeks. He could nearly see his past in bottom of the cup, all the cracks barely glued together by hopes and good intentions. He was fragile in that way.

“Are you familiar with the poetry of Percy Bysshe Shelley?” Hannibal asked.

“Not thoroughly.”

“There is a certain sonnet which I've entertained myself with for many years … 'Lift not the painted veil which those who live call life.'” Hannibal said, his voice dipping into a reverent whisper, “Is the painted veil the facade we pretend is true while authenticity waits in the shadows to be revealed, or is it the veil between life and death? Mortality at it's darkest, just a glimpse away.”

“You can't go back from it once you've seen behind the veil.” Will said, “Is that what you want me to do?”

“You'll never truly be happy if you continue to lie to yourself.” Hannibal said, “The sweetest moment you will ever experience is when you release the fear of crushed expectations and allow self-acceptance to free you. You are no longer bound by other people's opinions and the moral decay that you fear.”

“Maybe the sonnet says 'lift _not_ the veil' for a reason.”

“It's better not to see? To be comfortable and compliant and stagnant instead? I think not.”

“I've seen enough.” Will whispered, tersely. “Maybe more than I can bear.”

“But you're not free. Or happy.”

“I am confined.” Will said, “A bird in a gilded cage.”

“My bird?”

Will regarded Hannibal's inquisitive expression with boiling disbelief.

He set the tea cup down on the mantle with a clank.

“You're a pompous bastard, you know that?”

Hannibal's face glazed over in shock as Will turned and marched out of the bedroom.

As he shoved open the door to the stairwell, he cursed the tiny rooms of the lighthouse. There was nowhere to run where Hannibal wouldn't find him. Nowhere to go to be alone. Nowhere to escape the truth that Hannibal so eloquently revealed.

Will jogged up the spiraling steps, pushing himself to exertion, until halfway up the tower, his leg cramped. He dropped to the steps, panting and hissing in pain. Clutching his calf, he tried to rub away the tension.

As the pain faded from his muscle, and his breathing slowed, the stairwell fell quiet. The only sound was the rattle of the winter wind just outside the walls. The hollow echo rippled down the tower to the place where Will rested. As his blood slowed, he became aware of the cold permeating through the bricks around him.

He didn't climb any higher. He wrapped his arms around himself, and shivered in stubborn silence. He was cold and trembling, but he refused to go back down to the heated rooms below and face Hannibal.

The worst part was, he'd chosen this life. He'd gone willingly with Hannibal when he could have left this torment behind. Instead, he'd thrown himself into indentured servitude to a man who was never going to let him pay off his debt. He could only imagine that Hannibal felt the same way about him.

 


	2. Confidence Men

The Icelandic winter hung on with all it's strength, giving way slowly and stubbornly to the scarce, warm, summer days ahead. The darkness faded into everlasting sunlight that lengthened with each passing day. The nights were hazy with half-twilight, half-sunlight, a strange and alluring in-between stage that drew Will to the top of the tower most nights.

The weather was variable, with bouts of rain and wind in the midst of a mild and sunny day. Will and Hannibal's relationship over the summer months followed in a similar pattern. Some days they greeted each other in friendly disposition, while others came with grudging familiarity, and finally, tepid complacence.

Will hated those tepid days most of all, when he didn't have the strength to remind Hannibal that this stay wasn't a vacation, wasn't romantic, wasn't happy or peaceful in anyway. He hated when he couldn't turn away Hannibal's platitudes, offers of tea and lavish dinners, or the suggestions to sit warmly before the hearth while he read from tomes of poetry.

Some days, the constant sunlight drained his energy away. He couldn't fall asleep, and he couldn't stand being awake. The exposure made his head ache, and his eyes burn. He longed to find a dark cave somewhere that didn't allow a single ray of sunshine in. He would have slept for days, without a care in the world.

But here, he couldn't sleep. Not all night. Not well. Not without nightmares.

One day, night or morning he couldn't tell which with the sunlight peeking past the blinds, he woke with a start from a dream of falling.

He didn't think of it as often as he once had. The dreams were some kind of penance for thinking of taking his life, he thought. But perhaps purgatory was too kind a concept for someone who had never given God the time of day.

Hannibal was at his side in an instant, one hand easing Will's shoulders back against the sheets, the other hovering over his forehead.

“I'm fine, I'm fine.” Will muttered, slapping Hannibal's doting hands away.

“You were dreaming, violently.” Hannibal murmured.

“I know.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

Will sucked in a deep breath, and scrubbed his hands over his face. He laid with his face covered for a few moments before mumbling into them.

“I was falling.”

A pause.

“I see.”

Will dragged his hands from his face, and regarded Hannibal's contemplative expression.

“How often do you have these dreams?” Hannibal asked.

“Often.” Will gritted out. “Too often.”

“Your quality of sleep is hindered by the daylight.” Hannibal said. “I'll try to find better curtains.”

“Maybe we should leave altogether.”

“It hasn't been a year.” Hannibal said. “We're safe here. There's no reason to leave.”

“There's a million reasons.”

“None that are worth risking our anonymity for.”

“What's anonymity worth if I die of insomnia.” Will groused. “This constant daylight is hellish.”

“I'm sorry.” Hannibal said, “I've also experienced some insomnia.”

“Then we're in hell together.”

Hannibal had the audacity to smile. Will could do little but grit his teeth over a jab. He knew it would simply roll off Hannibal's shoulders.

He rolled over with his back to Hannibal, and pulled the sheets above his head. It offered a little more darkness, but his subconscious was aware of the sunlight.

Will stiffened when the mattress shifted under Hannibal's weight. The bed dipped and settled as Hannibal laid down on the bed behind him. The warmth of his body curled to Will's back, and his hand tested softly against Will's hip.

Will ripped the sheets back from his head, and sat up with a shriek.

“What are you doing?”

Hannibal gazed up at him with an expression that bordered on wounded. Will felt the impact of that single look like a crater in his chest.

“I thought perhaps my presence would ground you.” Hannibal said, “Ward off the dreams of falling.”

“Why the fuck would it do that?”

Hannibal pursed his lips, but the sigh bubbled up through his nostrils. He sat up stiffly on the edge of the bed.

“My apologies.” He said, “I should have asked.”

Will tucked back a growl of frustration as Hannibal rose from the bed, and left the room.

The departing warmth of his body elicited a pit of disappointment in Will's stomach, a sensation which he rejected with all his might.

Hannibal hadn't asked to get in the bed with him. Will hadn't wanted him to. He sure as hell didn't want Hannibal to stay. 

~

 

Days seeped into one another as the midnight sun burned in the sky. Will could never be sure what day it was, what time it was, whether it was afternoon or early morning. He crawled into bed when he felt exhausted – a dry aching in his whole body that came too often – no longer concerned with maintaining the divide between day and night.

To him, it seemed as if Hannibal was never bothered with the need for rest. He was always up and about the rooms before Will awoke, and was never weary from lack of sleep. Will detested the jovial mood he displayed even when Will spurned his attempts at conversation, and his offers of tea and dinner.

Will faced the black shore in a light jacket to ease the wind, and escaped the confined rooms of the lighthouse with a book in one hand, and a flask of whiskey in the other. He sat at the very edge, with his legs dangling over the cliff. The wind buffeted in from the sea, causing the pages of _The Confidence-Man_ to rebel against his fingers.

Hannibal crossed the rocks with his hands deep in his pockets, and his gaze fixed on Will's position.

Will glanced back at him before pinning his eyes to the ink spilling in uniform print across the page. He couldn't digest what was being said on these pages, but he could make it appear as such, for the simple buffer it provided.

“I saw you sitting out here, and realized this is the first time you've come here in a long while.” Hannibal said, as he came to stand at the edge of the cliff.

Will unscrewed the lid of the flask, and took a stiff drink.

“Are you thinking about jumping still?” Hannibal asked, casting a curious gaze down at Will.

“Not hardly.”

Hannibal absorbed Will's response in silence for a moment, before motioning to the book open on Will's knees.

“ _The Confidence-Man._ More of Melville. I find it a more entertaining read than _Moby Dick,_ to be frank. The satire and theme is much more finely concealed and intricate than the brash metaphors of open seas and whaling ships.”

“Just don't spoil the ending.” Will said, grimly.

“You've never read it before?”

“As far as satire of the epicurean and radical expansionism of Americans go, I've always found it to be oddly elitist within itself.”

“Or you could rather boil it down to the cynicism of having no one to trust in this world.”

“Exactly my point in reading it now.” Will said, casting Hannibal a sharp gaze.

“We're all confidence-men, Will. Don't forget that in your haste to demonize me.”

“We all play our little games, yes.” Will said, “But I'd like to think mine have left far less destruction.”

“The destruction that you've left behind doesn't matter here. Only your personal chaos does.”

Will blew out a sigh through his nostrils, and clapped the book shut. Hannibal's mouth twitched as he rose to his feet with the book tucked under his arm.

“I suppose I've interrupted your solitude.” He said.

“Yes.” Will said, “Doing so at the edge of a cliff isn't your smartest move, don't you think?”  
“Shove me over out of pettiness, will you?”

“Any reason is of good quality now.” Will said, “Considering nothing matters anymore, hmm?”

“Things matter.” Hannibal said. “Different things now than before.”

“How so?”

“I've given up intricate and concealed themes, shall we say.” Hannibal said.

“For brash metaphors? Birds, and teacups, and broken promises? I think you've always been more brash than you care to admit.” Will retorted.

Hannibal smiled, demurely.

“I'm in quest.” He murmured, turning his gaze to the sea.

The sun highlighted the fine mist above the turquoise of the ocean, veiling the horizon. Hannibal's eyes hunted along the rim of the sea, as if the answers were in the grasp of the waves.

“Quest?”

“For the edge of that painted veil.” Hannibal said, “I want to delve my hand beneath it's edge, and touch the dangerous things which separate us from the reality we create and the reality that exists.”

“You want to live a more honest life?”

“Honesty hurts.” Hannibal said, with a nod. “We convince ourselves of lies to make ourselves more comfortable with our demons and truths. We devise them, accept them, and lead others astray into fantasy. Perhaps nearly dying woke me to the reality of things.”

“What reality is that?”  
“I'm afraid I can't tell you until you too admit that you've been suffocating beneath the veil.” Hannibal said, breaking his gaze from the sea to find Will gazing at him in muted frustration. “Give up the games, Will.” He said, softly. “Haven't we reached the end of that rope?”

“ _You_ … You want to give up games?” Will asked.

“Look around us.” Hannibal said, motioning to the harsh rock and the waves beyond, “We have no one here but each other.”

Will cast a scowl at the ocean, tired at last of it's beauty and music. Without reply, he turned on his heel and marched back toward the lighthouse.

They didn't speak for some days afterword.

Those days dragged on with alarming speed, and yet, Will couldn't jar the conversation from his mind.

Hannibal Lecter and brutal honesty were two things that didn't coexist. Will associated Hannibal with lies, pain, betrayal, manipulation, and cruelty. He never did a thing in his life that didn't benefit him, and he wouldn't drop his facade of aplomb and class for anyone, or anything. His reality was what he made of it, and he didn't question it.

The bluff was indeed eroding. But whose?

Will chased the thoughts in circles for two weeks after, unconsciously turning to the intricate tapestry of Hannibal Lecter's dark soul even when he told himself it didn't matter.

It was still light out, the sun slogging overhead through a wind-chafed afternoon, when Will convinced himself with warm tea in his belly and a blanket over his head to discard the tiring thoughts and fall asleep. He drifted off on his belly, with his face pressed into the pillow, and wandered into hazy dreamland.

He dreamed of the lighthouse, and the water washing up over the edge of the cliff to swallow them. He dreamed of drowning, and finding the shore, of gasping for air, of hands searching for his faithful companion.

And then, as Hannibal came into view, the dreamed tilted and the fabric of cold waves and rock evolved into a fresh scene – the sunlit kitchen of the lighthouse, warm with summer air, smelling of fresh-cut flowers, and humming with all the vibrations of their thoughts. He could feel the wood grain of the table beneath his palms, the bite of the sharp edge against his thighs as Hannibal pressed against him. They embraced as they had on the cliff, their arms wound around each other and clinging, desperate breaths the only conversation between them. There was no blood, only the pulse in their veins.

The dream slowed, tripping over the fine details. The swell of Hannibal's pupils. The saliva glinting on his lower lip. Strands of silver hair falling over his eyebrow. The dart of his tongue over the razor sharp edges of his canines.

Will couldn't breathe. Watching the dream unfold. His secret, hidden thoughts laid bare.

And just as time had slowed, it sped up, eager and spilling, hot and desperate. Flesh against flesh. Messy kisses between gnashing teeth. Clothes ripped away, and hands taking hold.

The pang of desire in his belly was as real as anything he could recall. There was no sense of dreaming or fabrication as Hannibal's mouth curled around him, taking him down, down, down, draining him of all sense.

Just as he felt the pleasure rising up in his belly, and his body straining toward the eventual tumble, he jolted awake. Back to reality.

He lay in frozen shock for a moment as he blinked himself awake. His lips were open, draining saliva into the pillow, and his hands clutched at the corners of the pillow, just as they had been around the table edge in the dream.

As his mind crawled back into reality, he shifted against the mattress and felt a pinch of pain and dull aching. A gasp bubbled from the dry cavity of his mouth, coming out broken and hitched. His hips rolled a second time against the mattress, desperate to find that the engorged sensation had only been part of a dream. The tingle and ache came again, stronger this time.

Horror laced through his veins, racing to meet the pleasure that overtook him. The need galloping through him shoved back against the desperate reluctance. He longed to indulge for a single moment.

No one would know. He could close his eyes, make it all go away. Get up, and pretend as if nothing had happened.

Will licked his lips, returning to the moisture to his mouth as sleep gave way to alert, conscious desire. Gripping the edges of the pillow, he rocked his hips cautiously into the mattress. His hard cock skidded against the sheets, finding little relief in the pressure.

A moan pushed against the back of his throat, and he swallowed it down with a flare of annoyance.

_Just get it over with._

Closing his eyes, he tucked his teeth over his lower lip, and drew his focus to a sharp point against the throbbing need. The rhythm of his thrusts came harder and faster, rutting into the bed with the drive and determination of an animal. The muscles in his thighs began to burn after long, dull moments of rocking and rolling his hips in search of relief.

With a husky growl of frustration, he shoved his hand underneath himself to grasp the hard length of his cock through his boxers. A gasp followed the guttural sound as he thrust into the circle of his palm and fingers, and felt the first real flare of pleasure.

His eyes slipped back, and his mouth went lax. He gripped tighter around the fabric as the pleasure clutched low in his belly, ready to pounce with every thrust closer and closer to finish.

He tangled his other hand in his hair, gripping with trembling need at his nape. He held his face into the pillow, muffling each moan of pleasure into the downy cotton.

The electric pull of the orgasm was just beyond his reach, when a low creak from across the room dragged him from his lurching, burning fantasies.

Will froze, head snapping up from beneath the sheets. His hand remained around his cock, but he couldn't move as his eyes traveled with horrified realization to the half-open door.

Hannibal's eyes gazed past the crack between the frame and the door, like the disembodied gazes of ghosts noting Will's every sin. Sunlight had faded into the musky twilight of Icelandic nights, casting long shadows, and swathing Hannibal's presence in darkness. The glint of his smile was visible past the shadows, and paired with the twinkle of his eyes, he was all the vision of the demon Will labeled him to be.

Neither of them spoke, but Will could sense the thoughts swarming from the dark figure beyond the bedroom door.

_Don't stop on account of me._

Will bit back a whimper as the thought crossed his mind.

He could drop his head, and pretend to sleep. He could ignore the obvious. The blatantly, painfully obvious truth.

Hannibal would never allow him to forget this moment either way.

Will bit at his lower lip, and blinked against the urge to continue. His belly was warm and aching with need, his cock still rock hard on his palm. Hannibal's presence hadn't hindered his desire a bit. The eyes raking over every curve and swell beneath the sheets urged the sting of shameful need that pulsed through his veins.

Will swallowed hard, and dropped his head to the sheets. He prayed Hannibal would leave him in peace.

But when he opened his eyes again several moments later, those eyes were on him like flies to honey.

Will's teeth dug harder in his lower lip. Turning his gaze to the far wall, he cautiously rolled his hips into his hand once more. The pleasure ached through him, a dull roar that screamed a plea.

The thrusts came in quick succession, a force beyond his free will driving his hips in slamming desperation against the grip of his hand. The bed springs released a squeal with every pump of his hips, barely masking the groans that twisted their way from Will's mouth. He threw up a trembling hand to grab onto the headboard. His fingers wrapped white-knuckled around the wood slat, anchoring himself against the bed as he narrowed his concentration in on the pleasure boiling just below the surface.

The floorboards creaked again, but this time, Will didn't let them distract him. He was too close; the orgasm was nearly upon him. He just needed a few more moments.

Will's eyes flew open when he felt the light weight of the sheet leave his body. He twisted his chin to his shoulder, and opened simmering eyes to see Hannibal standing over him with the edge of the sheet in his fist.

Will lay exposed against the sheets, in nothing but his boxers and the red streaks of need that painted his skin.

Hannibal stared at him, eyes burning, jaw twitching against the waxing desire to speak. To command.

Will gazed back defiantly, his shame melting away under the consuming fire of conjoined need and hatred. He rolled over abruptly, and threw his legs across the width of the mattress. His cock stood tented beneath his boxers, stretching the material up toward his belly and leaving a wet patch at the tip.

Hannibal's hand curled tighter around the hem of the sheet, his arm shaking down to the bleached ridges of his knuckles. His own trousers bulged with burgeoning desire, so impudent that Will could have laughed if he hadn't been so fiercely clutched by the threat of losing his orgasm.

He shoved his hand beneath his boxers, and wrapped his fingers harshly around his cock. The skin stretched taut over swollen veins, and jumped against his palm at the coarse handling. He bit back a whimper, and pumped his hand in determined strokes.

The pleasure came swift and hot, requiring little more than a few precise caresses of his calloused hand before it exploded from his belly. The orgasm rocked through him, spasm after spasm jolting his hips up from the bed and spurting hot, slick release on his hand and the front of his boxers. The gasps tore from his throat, each one throatier and higher than the last as the pleasure burned through every part of him. His free hand clutched at the sheets, flexing around the thin material and tearing the elastic away from the mattress in his fervor.

When the orgasm subsided, he sank down against the mattress, breathing in ragged gasps. His hand lay frozen beneath the waistband of his boxers despite the sticky mess. He couldn't open his eyes, couldn't face what he'd done.

Hannibal's footfalls receded, and Will tracked them with his ears until they circled back from the bathroom and to his side. The bed tilted under Hannibal's weight.

“Will.” Hannibal murmured.

Will bit at his lower lip. Hannibal's voice was gentle and husky, almost the affectionate query of a lover.

“Will, open your eyes.”

Will squeezed his eyelids shut for a moment longer before resigning to the sting of reality. Heat rushed instantly to his cheeks when he met Hannibal's gaze.

The demon hovering in the shadows was gone. The once jagged, harsh planes of Hannibal's face were soft and blushed pink, and the darkness in his eyes had shifted to the hazel of a rainy, spring day.

“You're a mess.” Hannibal murmured.

He offered Will the towel he had fetched from the bathroom.

Will swallowed hard, tasting regret at the back of his throat. His eyes stung with shock and horror, but he steeled jaw against the emotion.

“Can ...” Will began, his voice breaking off hoarsely. He cleared his throat. “Can I have some privacy?”  
Hannibal gave a nod. He touched Will's wrist for a brief moment, and rose from the bed.

He closed the door behind him, leaving Will in the taunting silence of the room. He could hear his own thoughts, his conscience mocking him.

_You've spent so much time and energy fighting him, and now look at you. Pathetic._

Will pressed his eyes shut. He would take the self-flogging if it meant closing the door on this part of his mind. He would never look back. Never.

The very thought of his dream becoming reality made his stomach turn, he told himself. It was just an errant dream, crafted by his loneliness and Hannibal's being his only contact with someone else.

Will stripped out of the soiled boxers, and wiped down with the towel. The very evidence of his misdeed made him choke. He could only imagine what he had looked like to Hannibal, writhing around the bed with his hand shoved down his boxers like some reckless child.

He didn't know how he would ever leave this room. He didn't know how he would face Hannibal now that they had both found the edge of the veil.

 

~

 

If his dreams were to be his penance, he found the flogging of them nearly more than he could bear.

As the summer days dwindled away, blessed darkness in the evenings gave him cover for the thoughts that sank their teeth like animal predators into his brain. When he closed his eyes, he was ever in fear of his mind betraying him. The dreams came random and sudden, little moments he could recall when his mind was swathed in hazy sleep.

Sometimes he awoke with the dreams fresh in his mind. Other times, he was glad for only the lingering feeling of a dream and not recollection entirely.

Hannibal did not ask him to speak of what had happened. The days following, when Will was utterly silent and blushing deep rose in his presence, Hannibal did not break the moratorium on the matter, though he smiled more in a slow and gentle way.

In some other time and place, Will may have felt mocked by those secretive smiles and glances. What he felt now was relief. For once, Hannibal had kept his promise.

_With me, you'll never have to answer any questions._

It was all Will could get and be thankful about, for he could not turn back the clock, could not take back his actions. They were free as birds, and as vocal as the seagulls that circled the shore. They wouldn't be shot down by something as inadequate as regret.

Will had never found Hannibal to lacking in resilience, or better yet, absolute control. That was one thing he was certain would never change, despite the many odd and disconcerting claims Hannibal had made of late.

It wasn't until they were lying in their separate beds one evening, with their backs to one another that Will wondered if Hannibal had lost his control, or was simply manipulating Will.

The crash of the waves against the shore was the only sound that filled the lighthouse at this hour, yet as Will lay awake, staring at the wall, his ears picked up the smallest of grunts. He froze, uncertain as to whether he'd heard the sound, or whether he had imagined it. For a long moment, the surge of the tide filled his ears. He had nearly convinced himself it was imagination, until it came again. Louder. More distinct. Just behind him.

Will turned gingerly onto his back, and squinted through the dark to see Hannibal's back turned toward him, hunched over, shoulders flexing. His arm pinned against his side moved in a shallow motion, suggesting all the things Will didn't want to believe.

Will's heart drummed hollow against his ribs as realization and disbelief trickled through his brain.

The next several minutes stretched on into eternity as Will watched Hannibal's body shudder and clench, and listened to the low whimpers that culminated every few seconds. A dozen thoughts and actions crossed his mind, but the most burning of them all was the desire to get up from his bed, walk across the room, and yank the sheets back just as Hannibal had done to him.

Will gritted his teeth at the consideration. Hannibal got to suffer through his shameful desires in the privacy of darkness, while he'd taken away every last bit of Will's dignity with a single glance.

The climax came with an understated jerk and a low grunt.

For a long moment, Hannibal lay still, breathing shallow and quick. When he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, Will pressed his eyes shut to mimic sleep. He listened as Hannibal crept out of the room, and crossed the hall into the bathroom.

The faucet squeaked on, and ran water for a few minutes before Will watched the light creeping underneath the bedroom door shut off. He closed his again just before Hannibal entered the bedroom.

Hannibal climbed back into bed, and fell asleep in a matter of minutes, if the steady pattern of his breathing was any indicator.

Will silently cursed him. He'd lost sleep for days after Hannibal had walked in on him.

_Insufferable bastard._

It took Will another hour to fall asleep. When he woke the next morning, the thoughts were still clinging to his brain.

He rose to find Hannibal already up. The sheets on his bed were made up smooth and flawless, military style. No indication of what had occurred there the night before.

Will walked out into the kitchen to find Hannibal making breakfast.

Hannibal glanced over his shoulder as Will's footfalls elicited a squeak from the floorboards.

“Will.” He said, with a warm smile. “Sit. There's tea.”

Will conjured a relaxed smile, and took a seat at the kitchen table.

Hannibal paused from cooking to take the teapot from the stove, and pour Will a steaming cup.

Will muttered a thanks.

As Hannibal turned back to the stove, Will regarded the back of his head with lingering annoyance.

He wondered what it would be like to rip that cool, collected facade away. How he would looked screaming for mercy instead of smirking in self-satisfaction.

Will scrubbed a hand over his face as the thought brought a rush of warmth to his cheeks.

Hannibal finished breakfast, and set a plate before Will.

“Did you sleep well?” He asked, as he sat down across from Will.

Will gave a halting nod.

“At last the sun puts away it's everlasting light.” Hannibal said. “It's a welcome respite, yes?”

“Uh … yeah.” Will muttered.

Hannibal took a bite of eggs, and sipped his tea, unperturbed by Will's unusual behavior.

Will shook his head. Not even a scrap of shame.

He set his fork and knife down with a clank, bringing Hannibal's gaze darting across the table.

“I heard you.” Will said, crossing his arms.

Hannibal blinked, a shadow of realization crossing his eyes before it was swallowed in an expression of innocence.

“Heard what?”

Will scoffed. “You know.”

“I'm afraid I don't.”

Will averted his gaze, unable to look at Hannibal's bewildered expression. He shook his head again, and clenched his jaw against building anger.

“You always seemed inhuman to me.” He said, tersely. “Like you didn't need the normal things humans need to survive. I thought physical needs would be among them.”  
“Will, I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking-”

“Don't-” Will hissed, slamming a fist down on the table. “Don't act innocent.”

Hannibal blinked at him, a fine sheen of pink rising along his jaw and cheeks.

“Just tell me ...” Will said, “Just give me the … the respect of admitting why.”

“Why?”

“You could have gone on without it.” Will said, “But you did it for me. To hurt me just a little bit more.”

Hannibal's eyelashes fluttered faster, and chin tipped down toward his chest.

“I'm not allowed the darkness.” Will whispered, “I'm not allowed my own private hell. You see all, know all – or least that's what you think.”

“Here … in this confined space such as we are, it's difficult not to.” Hannibal said, his voice hardly above a whisper.

“You could have walked away.” Will said, “And left me in peace. Instead, we're stuck here, knowing. This place is a cage, and eventually, we're going to tear each other to shreds with the _knowing_ alone.”

“Knowing, and never speaking?” Hannibal asked, lifting his gaze from his lap, “I thought that's how you wanted it, Will.”

“You _watched_ me ...” Will's voice faded, reluctant to name what had happened, “.... And- … and we're not going to talk about that?”

“I thought perhaps you were ashamed.” Hannibal murmured.

“Perhaps?” Will echoed, spitefully. “ _Perhaps_ … God, you are unbelievable.”

“So, you were.” Hannibal said, cocking his head.

“It was private.” Will said, “You … you intruded. Of course I was embarrassed and-”

“Perhaps you were embarrassed because you liked it.”

Will's flustered rambling halted at the back of his throat. He blinked, trying in vain to bolster his shock into rage.

Hannibal gazed at him with a cool expression, confident of the knowledge.

“I-I … that's not … No.” Will stammered, his face growing hot. “No, that's not it at all. I was thinking about something else, and you … You just came in, and-”

“I didn't force you to continue.”

Will's lips twisted in anger, but the breath lodged at the back of his throat.

“I've told you before,” Hannibal said, “you need to be more relaxed with yourself. If you simply admitted your feelings and desires, these thoughts would not stagnate and grow sour in your mind.”

“Don't fucking lecture me.” Will snapped.

He rose from the table, scraping the chair legs across the hardwood floor.

Hannibal dipped his head, and uttered a sigh as Will marched to the coat rack by the door.

“Will, please sit back down.” He said, “You haven't finished your breakfast.”

“I'm not hungry.”

Will shoved his arms into his coat sleeves, and pulled the front door open. He stepped out into the autumn chill, and let a stiff breeze yank the door shut behind him.

The howl of the wind and the crush of the waves against the rocks filled his head with white noise, nearly enough to drown out his thoughts. Head bent against the wind, he strode across the rocks toward the steps leading down to the pier.

He cast a gaze over his shoulder to see if Hannibal was following him. When he glimpsed nothing but rock and the closed door of the lighthouse behind him, he quashed budding disappointment.

He climbed aboard the boat, and took it out to sea with practiced and forced motions. He poured his frustration into hoisting the sails, yanking the ropes taut, and twisting them into knots. The gusting wind snapped the sails full, dragging him away from land, away from the lighthouse and it's prison bars.

Will set up the wind vane, and laid down on the deck with his hands laced behind his head. With the wind rushing in a soothing rhythm across his face, the tension seeped little by little from his bones. He closed his eyes, and imagined a stream, somewhere far away from barren rock and everlasting sunlight, the ocean tide, and Hannibal's omniscient gaze.

 


	3. In A Wonderland They Lie

The peninsula that jutted from the mainland and was home to their lighthouse was a mile's walk to the beach. The wind was cruel, yet Will followed the path from the lighthouse, and down the rocky incline to the black beach that met the pale tide.

When the suffocating walls of the lighthouse became too much, he came here. Sometimes, he stared out at the perpetually rolling water for what felt like hours, wondering if this place was even real.

The sand, like tiny shards of crushed coal, that stood stark black against the cyan waves was not earthly, but a part of a fantasy world that he'd created in his mind. The depressing darkness, the arduous periods of excessive daylight seemed too drastic to be plausible.

Any day now, he would awake in a hospital bed to realize that he'd been dreaming. Perhaps his body had been broken in the fall. Perhaps he would never walk again. Those were the barbaric truths of reality. This world was much too gentle, in it's dizzying and mystical way.

Will was too much of a skeptic to believe that this was Purgatory. God wasn't that merciful.

He came to the beach to escape. With a book and his flask in hand, he walked until his legs burned and his lungs ached. Until the wind turned his cheeks raw and red, and the dull sounds of water and air numbed his skull. Until he couldn't focus on the written words with his thoughts loud and continuous like a broken record echoing through his brain.

He came early in the morning, before Hannibal had awoken, or during the day when Hannibal was gone to the nearest town to shop. For several weeks, he was successful in masking where he went to for hours on end, until one afternoon, he looked up to see a figure walked along the edge of the water in gray overcoat.

Will took a swig of whiskey, and grimaced at the sight of the familiar figure.

Turning back his book, he read one more page before his secret hiding place was no longer peaceful.

Hannibal approached him at a casual pace, head turned toward the sea to absorb the picturesque view. When he reached the piece of driftwood that Will was seated on, he uttered a soft sigh.

“It's been a long tradition of mine to draw each place in the world I visit.” He said, “But I am uncertain as to whether pencil and paper could capture this one.”

Will gritted his teeth at the nostalgic tone in Hannibal's voice.

“Maybe it's because you haven't killed anyone here.”

Hannibal chuckled, and cast Will an amused expression. “Perhaps.”

Will frowned as Hannibal sat down on the driftwood next to him.

“You haven't, have you?” He asked.

“Killed anyone?”  
“Yes.”

Hannibal's mouth curled in an almost coy smile. “No.”

“Why not?”

“The population on this island is small enough as it is. I'm afraid the disappearance of only one person might spark a full-throttle investigation. The crime rate here is rather low.”

“My analysis has always been true then.” Will said.

“I wasn't aware you had analyzed me.”

Will gave Hannibal's a dubious expression. “Of course I have. I had plenty of time to think as I was sitting in the Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane.”

Hannibal's head lowered incrementally. He smoothed a palm over his knee, and squinted out at the ocean.

“What was your analysis?” He asked.

“That you're a sophisticated psychopath … a narcissist, and a sadist.”

“That's rather unflattering.”

“It's true.” Will said, sharply. “You do what you do because you enjoy it. Because you like inflicting pain. Because you like scrubbing people who displease you from the face of the earth. But nothing comes before your own well-fare, so you can stop if you have to.”

“Of course I can.” Hannibal said, his smile returning. “Do you think me entirely devoid of self-control?”  
Will scoffed, and turned his gaze back to his book.

“Well.” He muttered. “You've found me. Can you leave me in peace now?”

“That's your problem, Will.” Hannibal said, pinning his gaze to Will's profile. “You run from your problems instead of facing them.”

“You're right … You are a problem to me.”

Hannibal's mouth pursed over a smile. After a beat, he asked, “May I ask you a question?”

“You're going to ask anyway, so go ahead.” Will said, waving a hand.

“If you despise my company so much, why did you come with me?” Hannibal asked, “I gave you the chance to leave, and you didn't.”

Will drew in a deep breath, and rubbed his forehead with thumb and forefinger.

“Things have changed since I made that decision.” He said.

“You regret it?”

“Maybe.”

“What makes you undecided?”

“I can't imagine a much better existence back home.” Will admitted, “Too many questions … Questions I don't have the answers to.”

“You feel as if you don't belong anywhere?”

“Not here, not back there.” Will said, shaking his head. “I'm not trying to find my way back to anywhere … I'm just trying to find the door to somewhere else.”

“Ah, a door.” Hannibal echoed, “If only you could step through, and all your problems would be solved.”

“I know … it's only a fantasy.”

“Is that how you've always dealt with your problems?”

“I don't know … I can't recall ever feeling as if I belonged anywhere.” Will said, “There was always this sense, deep in my chest, that I needed to be moving on – like my life was a series of stops along the road, going somewhere else.”

“You're unhappy here because there's no way out.” Hannibal murmured, “No way to keep moving on.”

“I don't like to be tied down.”

“No one is tying you down.”

“You told me if I tried to leave you would have to kill me.”

“How do you know I would succeed?”

“Why would I want to risk it?”

“So, you don't want to die after all.”

Will tamped down a hasty retort, and focused on the book spread across his lap. Wind tugged at the pages, and he slapped the cover shut to silence the fluttering noise.

As the silence between them lengthened, Hannibal smiled, softly.

He said, “You were a pet owner, so you know what it's like to train an animal to stay. After so long, they stay despite not being caged or put on a leash. There is an illusion of control. They could run at any time, but they don't. They've been led to believe their life is the only choice there is.”

Will's brow furled. “Are you comparing me to a dog?”

“Have you considered whether or not you're staying because you have no choice, or because deep down, you truly want this life?” Hannibal asked, breezily ignoring Will's contempt.

He turned on the driftwood to face Will, curious eyes scouring Will's repulsed expression.

“A dog may run away from it's master, but return of it's own freewill when it realizes life beyond his own front yard isn't as lovely as he thought.”

Will swallowed hard. The taste of whiskey soured in the back of his throat, and his stomach turned.

“You're berating yourself for what happened.” Hannibal added, “But you enjoyed it, Will.”

“No.” Will whispered.

He rose from the log, and paced away from Hannibal. His knees wobbled under his weight as he came to the edge of tide. Water lapped at his toes, begging to suck him under.

“You dream of a life beyond this one, but you don't realize you're perfectly happy with what I've provided you.”

“That's not true.” Will said, raising his voice above the swell of the tide.

Hannibal's footfalls plodded through the sand, and Will spun around just as he strode near.

“I never meant for you to see … for that to happen-” He said, throat choking with panic.

“My question is not aimed at your intent.” Hannibal said, “But at what happened once you were given a choice. You could have stopped it, but you didn't.”

“I don't know why I didn't.” Will said, throwing his hands up. “I can't give you the answer you're looking for. I just … _didn't._ ”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes! I wish to God now that I had.”

Hannibal sighed, and turned his gaze to where the sky and sea met far away.

“You don't know why you came with me, you don't know why you stay, you don't know why you won't stop … Will, one day you must face yourself, and your choices. You can't blame me for what you've done for the rest of the your life.”

Will scowled at Hannibal from the corner of his eye.

“You still wear your ring.” Hannibal said, his voice dipping to a whisper. “It shows some level of commitment to the life you once had.”

Will lifted his hand to gaze at the gold band around his finger. After wearing it for three years, the weight of it around his finger was unrecognizable, but it hadn't taken long after their arrival for it's presence to begin haunting him.

“Not commitment.” He murmured. “Punishment.”

“For abandoning them?”

“Yes. For everything I failed to do.”

“You shattered the tea cup.” Hannibal said, “Yet, it won't come back together. Not because it can't, but because you won't let it. Despite how much you flog yourself for your choices, you wouldn't change them – would you?”

“I can't.” Will said, “The damage I did by making my choices can't be fixed, even if I did leave and try to find a way to set things right.”

“Perhaps if your family loved you enough they would forgive you.”

“I'm not _worthy_ of their forgiveness.”

“You're worthy of this life you deem a living hell?”

“Maybe.”

“You don't believe in God.”

“Maybe he believes in me.” Will said, casting Hannibal a pointed gaze.

Hannibal dipped his head with a smile. “And he's punishing you?”

“If this is what it feels like … yes.”

“If you don't believe in God, you are your own god.” Hannibal said, “Thus punishing yourself …. You have the power to make it stop at any time, but you choose the pain and the shame.”

“I don't feel like I'm in control of it.”

“Maybe you're more in control than you think.” Hannibal said, “Playing my victim is a choice, Will. I don't view you as my victim.”

“What do you view me as?”

“I had hoped you would accept the role of 'equal'.”

This remark jarred Will's gaze from the ocean, and to Hannibal's placid, expectant expression.

“No one is your equal.” He said, “Not in your mind.”

“There's been an addendum. You have just as much control of our situation as I do. Perhaps more than I do.”

“How's that?”

“You're free to leave at any time. What awaits you back home is possible redemption, while only the four walls of a prison cell would await me. I am at your mercy since I have chosen to show you the place I have sequestered myself.”

“I'm just as guilty as you are.”

“The world doesn't know that.” Hannibal said, softly. “Only I do. And the voices of the dead.”

“So I should go back? Pretend that I'm innocent? No, I can't do that.”

“Then why do you play it as such now?”

“I don't!”

“You would rather deflect your choices onto my supposed evilness.” Hannibal said, “You want to see yourself a victim of circumstance, of _my_ choices – but it's your own that have brought you to this point. Give me the same respect you fling toward your abandoned wife and child. Throw off this guise of guilt and remorse, and recall your confession that evening on the cliff when you had the Dragon's blood on your hands.”

Will gazed at Hannibal, his jaw clenched against the words that lunged against the back of his throat.

“Don't you know I long for that freedom?” He whispered against clenched teeth, “Don't you think I wish I didn't go through every day feeling like this?”

“It was quite simple when you were reaching for my hand.” Hannibal said.

“I felt it. For once, I let myself feel it.” Will whispered, emotion pressing against his eyelids. “I admitted it … And I thought it would be over. I thought it was okay if it would be over.”

“It is over.” Hannibal said, “It _can_ be over, Will.”

“Admitting now what I did then would be denouncing the last scrap of my humanity.”

“What part of humanity is so appealing to you?” Hannibal asked, his eyes darkening. “The part that is bigoted, selfish, rude, and full of hatred for fellow mankind? The part that let's people starve while others are living in the lavish conditions of wealth? Or perhaps it's the part that starts wars, and plunders without mercy.”

“I have believe in the best of people.” Will said, firmly, “I have to believe there's something worth fighting for in this world, or what's the point of living in it?”

“You've seen the worst in people.” Hannibal said, shaking his head grimly, “Yet you cling to this childlike belief that humanity is ingrained with goodness. There is beauty in the world, Will, but it's certainly not to be found in people.”

“So that makes you exempt from the evil of taking life? Because you don't believe in the goodness of people, it's okay to kill them?”

“The people I've killed were better for what they became – for the _art_ they became at my table.” Hannibal said, “The life they were living was not worth any more or any less.”

“Who are you to decide that? Who am _I_?”

“We are the ones who see beyond this temporal existence.” Hannibal said, “Some things are only color and air, not meant for this world.”

Will huffed out a breath of disbelief, and raked his fingers through his hair.

For a moment, the swell of the tide was like a mob raging in his ears. Panic and horror, and the low hum of longing. A desire to forsake his guilt, and partake in Hannibal's self-made religion.

“I came here to be alone.” He said, at length.

“I know.”

“Then why did you come?” Will asked, tersely.

“I wanted to make certain you didn't leave one day, and never come back.”

“I already told you, I'm not leaving.”

“And not killing yourself?”

Will's gaze snapped to Hannibal's, just long enough to glimpse the veiled fear in his eyes.

“No.” He whispered. “I'm not suicidal.”

Hannibal dipped his head. “I'll give you your space, then.”

He turned to walk back up the beach.

“Hannibal.” Will said.

Hannibal turned, his gaze searching Will's with some measure of hope.

Will clenched his jaw, and crossed his arms.

“This space isn't safe anymore.” He said, “You shouldn't have come.”

Hannibal gazed at him, hardly a trickle of pain lacing his eyes before the cold mask of indifference slipped back into place.

He walked back up the beach toward the lighthouse, and Will watched his figure grow smaller, until he was nothing more than a speck against the pale blue sky.

 

~

 

The length of days faded with noticeable speed as autumn trod away into the final days of November. Each day came shorter as the impending darkness heralded winter's chill.

Will climbed the winding staircase one early morning to catch a glimpse of the golden sunlight that would last little more than four hours in the coming days. The perpetual daylight had tormented him with sleeplessness during the summer months, yet the thought of living in darkness was just as depressing.

He pushed open the door at the top of the lighthouse to find Hannibal standing at the railing with a cup of tea cradled in his hands. His forearms rested on the railing, holding his hands and the tea cup suspended over the edge. Steam curled from the hot liquid in the cup, and was quickly snatched away the cold breath of wind.

Will attempted to ease the door shut again, but Hannibal's head snapped to the side at the squeak of hinges.

“Will.” He said.

Will suppressed a sigh, and stepped out onto the balcony. The door swung shut behind him with a resonating thud.

“I'm sure you came up here to be alone.” Hannibal said.

Will gave a clipped nod. Easing up to the railing, he looked over the edge at the ground below them. This view wasn't as breath-taking as it had once been. It wasn't so high as he'd first thought; if he fell, there was a chance of survival with a few broken bones and scrapes.

“It's nearly December again.” Hannibal said, gazing out at the brisk ocean waves. “Soon a year will have passed.”

“It feels much longer.” Will said.

“On the contrary, I was thinking it felt much shorter. Time passes strangely here.”

“It's subjective.”

“Do you still want to leave?”

Will drew in a deep breath of cold air, and felt it frost his lungs and nostrils. He lifted his shoulders.

“Is there any point?”

“Is there to you?”

“I doubt a change in scenery would change much more than just that – scenery.”

Hannibal considered Will's comment as he took a sip of his tea. The slurping made Will's teeth grind, and he cast a narrowed glance from the corner of his eye at Hannibal's lips wrapped around the ceramic rim of the cup.

“I could find another place for us.” Hannibal said, “If you so desired.”

“A place with less wind and cold? More daylight … Prone to fewer extremes.”

“Perhaps more space?”

Will's gaze darted back to Hannibal's. He frowned.

He'd forgotten to mention how cramped it was. The fact that it didn't bother him as much as it once had bothered him more than his memory of feeling the walls closing in around him.

“Giving me more spaces to run to would just be giving you more spaces to invade.”

“You've admitted yourself that we're linked together. Perhaps those places were already tainted.”

“It's still possible for me to feel alone.” Will said, waving a hand toward the beach. “If I closed my eyes while sitting by the ocean, I could imagine that I was far away from here.”

“And now that I've invaded that space?”

“There's still the boat.” Will said. “But sometimes it makes me sick, being out there again – even if it is on a secure vessel.”

“Then what point is there in staying?”

“I'm afraid I would get comfortable with the idea of safety.” Will said, “If you found us a new place, I would look forward to untainted spaces – but I know eventually I would be disappointed. It all happens again; history repeats itself. Especially our history.”

“And our history is too painful to relive?”

“It's less of a pain, and more of a dull ache.” Will murmured, “The constant reminder of the things I've lost.”

“You don't believe in fresh beginnings, or clean slates?”

Will scoffed, “For us? No.”

“And why not?”

“A clean slate requires an agreement that the terrible things that happened in the past won't ever happen again.” Will said, “Can you promise you'll never hurt me again? Can you promise you'll never take away everything that I love?”

“I've stripped away everything else.”

Will stiffened as Hannibal drew closer. The teacup clutched in his hand trembled, liquid sloshing at the the edges.

He gingerly lifted his gaze to Hannibal's, and caught a glimpse of softness peeking past the veil of darkness that so often shaded his eyes.

“There's nothing left to take.” He murmured. “You've given me everything.”

“You'll never be satisfied.” Will whispered, his voice choked and halting, “My pain is the only thing about me that amuses you.”

“You fully believe that?”

Will swallowed, and his breath followed quick and shallow against the back of his tongue. Hannibal hovered inches from him, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath between the cold bite of the wind, and to watch the cruelty in his eyes shift to sadness.

“Yes.” Will whimpered.

His fingers wrapped around the railing, knuckles blanching and skin aching against the cold and coarse metal. His knees trembled, threatening to buckle as Hannibal closed the space between them.

What ire he had hoarded to his chest for weeks upon endless weeks scattered. What was left behind was trembling vulnerability, his heart like a tender blossom struggling against a harsh environment.

Hannibal thumb grazed against his chin, and his fingers settled along the ridge of Will's cheekbone and jaw. Will leaned away from the caress, his skin sparking and burning beneath Hannibal's fingertips. The railing bit into his lower back as he searched for more space.

“After all that's happened, I expected you to understand more than those shallow amusements.” Hannibal said, a frown curling between his brows. “We've changed each other, Will; _I've_ changed.”

“I don't believe you.” Will whispered, his voice thready and hoarse. “I don't believe you'll ever change.”

Hannibal's mouth pursed, jaw working around a thick swallow. He took a step back, and let his gaze break from Will to the view beyond the lighthouse.

“'There's no use going back to yesterday; I was a different person then.'” He whispered. “Do you believe that, Will?”

“It's just a fairy tale; I haven't fallen down a rabbit hole. The things that have happened to me have very real consequences.”

“Yes, exactly. Don't you believe that every day on this earth changes us?” Hannibal pressed, “That each experience shapes us … like clay spinning and molding. Transforming.”

“Some things will never change.” Will said, “There's no reform for someone who's given themselves over to complete darkness.”

“In my world there is no darkness.” Hannibal said, his gaze trailing to Will's. “And it is you who refuses to change – or rather, except the change that's occurred.”

“Maybe I have changed. But that doesn't mean I can't change again; pray that I'll become something better.”

“There is no better.” Hannibal murmured, “This is it. This is the end of the world.”

“So we'll stay here together, collecting dust until we die? Static scenes in a snow globe, while the world passes us by … That's not what I want; and I don't think it's what you want.”

“I don't expect us to never change again.” Hannibal said, “But without me, Will, there's is no better world. I don't speak pridefully or in exaggeration; it's simply the way of things. As they have been for some time now.”

“My happiness isn't dependent on you.” Will said, huffing disbelief past the lump rising in the back of his throat.

“Then why don't you leave?”

Will shook his head, and scraped a hand through his hair. “We've had this conversation.”

“There are places you could go that are not back home.” Hannibal said, “Places that are not here, simultaneously. There are more than two doors you could go through.”

Will dragged his hand over his face. For a moment, the howl of the wind raging against the lighthouse was almost too much to bear.

“You could find a place to start a family like the one you had in Wolftrap.” Hannibal said, “You could try to forget that any part of this ever happened.”

“Why are you saying this?” Will asked, “I know you don't want that.”

“Because I know you don't want it either, and I hope that you will allow yourself to admit your desires when faced with the consequences of defying them.”

“Desires ...”

“Don't be so quick to dismiss them.”

“Are we still talking about my overall happiness, or a specific _desire_ in particular?”

Will cut a gaze to Hannibal, and steeled himself for the knowing glint that rested ever present in his eyes. Breath caught at the back of his throat when he looked up to see Hannibal stepping toward him, an expression of determination and need clashing across his face.

Neither protest nor action rattled from his objecting bones; only cold, paralytic shock. His hand froze around the railing as Hannibal palmed his cheek with strong fingers chilled by the wind. For the smallest moment, Hannibal paused to look into his eyes, and Will saw the desire and passion pressed into every flare and glint. It was Will's moment to pull away, to object; to do something. Anything. Instead, his eyelids slipped shut as Hannibal bent to impart a warm, lavish kiss.

Actions and sensation blurred into a mess of panicked realization, followed by a tremble of desire that rippled all the way down the back of his skull and spine, to the very core of his body. Hannibal's mouth pressed against his, the wet warmth of his tongue spilling past his wind-chafed lips the moment Will's lips drifted apart. The velvet texture and wet heat of his tongue curled along Will's upper lip, lingering for breathless moments at the seam of his lips before nudging inside.

Paralyzed and hardly breathing, Will clung to the railing for endless moment of pure panic. He could hear his heart thudding against his ribs, and the blood surging loud like the tide; his body ticking away the seconds of abrupt and breathing-taking intimacy like the hands of a clock.

His thoughts came slow and struggling like infants unable to breathe, before taking a lungful of air and building up to a scream.

With a piercing crash, the teacup slipped from Hannibal's fingers and shattered to a hundred tiny shards at their feet.

The sound jarred Will to action. He gasped in a breath as both his hands lunged against Hannibal's chest. Hannibal resisted, hands clutching at Will's face and lacing through the curls at his nape. Will gave a few ineffective twists of his body before biting into Hannibal's lower lip.

Grunting, Hannibal released him, and stood back, patting at his lower lip with a cautious hand.

Will leaned against the railing, breathing in ragged breaths of cold, winter air. He was barely able to muster a scowl as he lifted his eyes to Hannibal's.

Hannibal's fingertips came away with a single drop of scarlet. His lower lip gleamed with the ornament of Will's bite, tongue smearing away the droplets at they came thick and dark.

“We've never held back our most violent desires from each other.” Hannibal said, each word scraping ragged and husky from his throat. “So, let this be my most honest moment.”

Will blinked at him, mute and dazed.

All the objections that had raced through his mind only moments before were gone, replaced by a white, blank haze of realization.

“This is how I love you, Will.” Hannibal said, gesturing to the blood seeping from his lower lip. “In this violent and brutal way … In this most tender, and fragile way.”

Will spun to face the ocean, and grabbed on to the railing to brace himself. His breaths came quick and shallow, each one pinching into his lungs like the stab of a needle.

“I'm sorry if I've been abrupt, or rude … If I concealed it any longer, I thought perhaps it would break me.”

Will squeezed his eyes shut against the tide of emotions that surged through his brain. A tremor worked it's way through his chest and extremities, pulling his fingers taut and blanched around the railing. His stomach lifted weightless and buoyant into his chest, colliding with his pounding heart.

“I couldn't let you break me.” Hannibal continued, his voice dwindling to a raw whisper. “Not before you knew.”

Will swallowed back a dozen thoughtless retorts. Half of them were too harsh. Some of them too gentle. Others more honest than he could bear.

He pried his hands from the railing, and brought their cold cradle to his face. Tears brooked hot and cutting against his eyelids, and his throat ached with each desperate attempt to swallow them back.

“Will … Please.”

Will's shoulders stiffened.

 _Please_.

The word twisted from Hannibal's mouth like a foreign language, ungainly yet passionate.

“I've bared my heart to you.” He added, indignation tainting his obeisance. “Say something in return. Give me the respect of honesty.”

Will dragged his hands from his face, and lifted his head. He sniffed back the lingering tears, and lifted his chin in defiance.

He turned slowly from the ocean view to gaze into Hannibal's misty eyes.

“You've drugged me, mislead me, manipulated me, framed me for murder, tried to kill me, tried to kill my family, and taken away everything I've ever cared about.” He said, his voice breaking the silence with measured distaste. “You've turned my life into something I never wanted. Do you think one night of … of whatever it was we had when we killed Dolarhyde – do you think it changes everything that came before? Justifies it somehow?”

Hannibal's jaw clenched as a thread of pain ghosted across his eyes.

“I felt something incredible that night.” Will said, “Something so powerful and intoxicating that I don't think I'll ever experience something that will match it. That was the peak – and the end. It was supposed to end.”

“We could-” Hannibal began, his voice taut with determination.

“No.” Will interrupted, cutting a hand through the air between them. “No, we couldn't.”

“You didn't let me finish.”

“I know what you're going to say.” Will said, “And it's bullshit. We're no gods among mortals, Hannibal. We're no divining spirits that decide who should live or die. We're just human beings – terrible, flawed people who did something that should have signed our death warrants.”

“That's how you choose to see it.”

“No, that's how it is.” Will said, “And I'm not going to buy into your bullshit just because it would make me feel better. You're right when you say we're bound together for the rest of our lives. What we did when we killed the Dragon connects us in ways that can't be severed. But that doesn't mean I have to play house with you, and pretend that it makes us special. It doesn't; it just makes us what we are – killers.”

Hannibal's eyes widened as Will shoved past him, letting their shoulders collide in his race for the door.

“Will-”

His plaintive cry was cut off as the door slammed behind Will. In the darkness of the winding staircase, Will stumbled on trembling legs toward the bottom of the lighthouse. He clung to the railing as he jogged down the stairs, counting each one in his head until he found the door out.

He slammed into the door that led into the bedrooms, and gave the knob a vicious twist. The door gave way to his shoulder, spilling him into their shared living space.

Hannibal's neatly made bed, and his own messy one struck him with stunning clarity. The clothes on the floor, and the ones hanging side-by-side in the armoire seemed to mock him with a picture of domesticity that he had rejected since their arrival.

He had thought he'd put up effective barriers, but with Hannibal's kiss lingering on his mouth, all he could see was a shared life of cozy, domestic bliss.

Will charged for the front door as he heard Hannibal's footfalls echoing through the tower above him. At the front door, he snatched his coat, and shoved his feet into his boots. He didn't bother to tie his laces, or zip the coat as he yanked the front door open and flung himself out into the bitter cold.

Running across the uneven plane of black rock, he sucked in lungfuls of winter air to combat the weak tremble rippling through his body. His feet landed unsteady with every stride, legs threatening to buckle under him and send him tumbling to the sharp, unforgiving rock.

He didn't look back when he heard his name echo across the plane.

His lungs ached with gasps of crisp, November air, and his exposed skin burned as he rushed headlong into the gusting wind. By the time he clambered down to the steps to the pier, the cold was already seeping through the layers of clothing and deep into his bones.

The water slapped against the rocks, swirling white and clear and cold. The boat rocked against it's moorings, as unstable on the shifting water as Will's own flighty fears and half-formed escape attempt.

He untied the ropes with aching and trembling fingers, and threw them over the edge of the boat onto the deck. As he climbed aboard, he glanced over his shoulder to see Hannibal striding down the rocks toward the pier. The lapels of his hastily donned overcoat flapped wildly against his shoulders, and the hem swirled around his calves. His hair tossed in the wind, but the razor-sharp resolve in his eyes was clear past the silver strands.

Will shoved the key into the ignition, and gave it a twist. The engine coughed and barked beneath him, crawling toward full power against the brittle cold.

“Come on.” Will muttered.

He gave the engine some choke, eliciting a promising rumble from the bowels of the boat. He glanced up anxiously, and swore as Hannibal marched down the steps leading to the pier.

Without assuring himself the engine was ready to go, he released the shift lever and guided the boat away from the dock. The engine offered up a few complaints before shifting into a monotonous purr.

Will let out a gasp of relief. The boat drifted away from the shore just as Hannibal walked down the pier and up to the edge of the water.

The space between them widened as the boat gained speed. Will stared over the wheel for a moment of paralytic realization.

He was leaving. He was running away.

He was on his boat with nothing but the clothes on his back, and the ocean before him. He didn't have a heading, and the next sight of land wouldn't be for days. They were at the end of the world, and he was searching for the edge.

Will swallowed against panic, and clung the wheel as the pier grew farther and farther away with every passing second.

Hannibal stood at the end of the pier, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He may have been the picture of fury to anyone else, but to Will, he was prehistoric animal, savage, but capable of great emotion – a beast watching the only who would love him sail away.

Will ducked his head, and sucked in a deep breath. Wind and tears stung at his eyes. The great thudding of his heartbeat slowed to rhythmic trod of breathless regret and anger. He was torn, some part of him aching to go back, the other demanding he leave this all behind for his own sake.

Will lifted his head. Blinking past tears, he found Hannibal's figure on the pier. In the cold, morning light, his intentions were clear.

Will's mouth slipped open.

Hannibal had kicked off his shoes, and now shrugged his coat from his shoulders. Throwing the garment to the ground, he took a step back from the edge of the pier.

“Hannibal, no-”

Will's weak protest cut off as Hannibal darted up to the edge of the pier, and dove into the cold, foaming waves.

Will abandoned the wheel, and rushed the edge of the boat to watch in horror as the rolling waves crashed over Hannibal's head. For a few terrifying moments, Will couldn't glimpse him under the choppy water rolling over and over itself under wind and current.

It wasn't until Hannibal's head broke the surface of the water, that the fluttering warmth of relief filled Will's chest.

He stood at the edge of the deck, fingers wrapped white-knuckled around the railing, lungs hardly breathing for a few long moments as he watched Hannibal swim valiantly against the waves. Realization dashed against his consciousness like the tide below, each thought rolling in faster and stronger.

Breaking away from the railing, he ran to the wheel, and cut the engine. The motor puttered and died, leaving the boat rocking freely against the waves.

Will cast an anxious glance over the edge as he hauled the rope ladder from the deck, and swung it over. Hannibal's head broke the surface, and he came up gasping and choking salt water.

“Come on!” Will shouted, giving the ladder a shake.

Hannibal dove against the waves, and with a few more strokes, swam up against the boat. Grabbing onto the ladder, he dragged himself up out of the waves. As soon as he was within reach, Will grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him up over the edge of the railing.

Hannibal stumbled onto the deck, and steadied himself against the railing with one hand. The other clung to Will's sleeve, trembling with cold and exertion.

“What the hell are you doing?” Will asked, “The water is freezing.”

Hannibal's voice was a coarse whisper, “I couldn't let you leave without me.”

Will exhaled a breath of frustration and relief. “You're a maniac.”

Hannibal's mouth curled as he blinked against the water dripping from his hair and down his face.

“I wouldn't have jumped in if I didn't think it would stop you.” He said.

“Well, mission accomplished.” Will said, grimly.

He walked back to the wheel, and twisted the key in the ignition.

As the started the engine back up, Hannibal joined him at the helm.

Their little peninsula jutted from the mist-swathed mainland like an island trapped outside of time. A light burned in the window, a beacon calling them home. The brick and iron and stone had hardly changed from they day they arrived, but in Will's eyes, they had evolved – elements burning to fuel their change.

“What if I hadn't stopped?” He asked, quietly.

“I knew you would.”

“But what if I didn't?”

Will cast a sharp glance at Hannibal. Hannibal was gazing at the lighthouse, a placid expression blanketing his profile.

“You have no food or water on this vessel.” He said, at last. “You would have come back eventually.”

“Just like I always do.” Will muttered.

Hannibal's jaw clenched as a shiver rippled through him. His skin was pale and wet, his lips tinged blue with the cold. Will longed for the lively red that had tainted them after their vicious kiss.

“You know, I followed you the first day that you walked down to the beach.” Hannibal said, a smile curling his mouth.

“What?”

“I thought of catching up to you, but I could see you ruminating even from the far distance I was following at. I let you be.” Hannibal said, “For a little while, at least.”

“You let me think I was safe.” Will said, irritation coloring his tone.

“Perspective is all that matters, really.” Hannibal said, “I thought being alone would give you time to realize what is between us, but after several weeks, I knew you wouldn't come to acceptance all on your own.”

“And what is 'between us'?”

“What do you want to be 'between us'?”

“I can't answer that objectively now that you've revealed what _you_ want.”

“Did it change your answer?”

Will turned a scowl at the shore. They were nearly back home; it was all over so quickly, it was almost as if they had never left.

“I didn't think you wanted to kiss me.” He muttered.

“Perhaps I've not been as clear as I wanted to be.” Hannibal said, “Perhaps I should have been clearer sooner.”

“Any sooner and I may have kicked you in the balls instead of just biting you.”

Hannibal cast Will an amused expression. “Perhaps.”

Will cut the engine as they drew closer to the pier. The boat glided back into place, and a sudden rush of relief laced through Will's chest – relief like stepping back from the edge.

When they finished tying the boat to the moorings, Hannibal bent to gather his coat and shoes from the pier. His clothes and hair dripped water, and he shivered against the gusts of wind that rolled in from the sea.

“Come on.” Will said, “It's cold. Let's go inside, and I'll make you a cup of tea.”

 


	4. A Teacup Comes Together

As the days dwindled toward winter, Will found himself not dreading the impending darkness as much has he had the previous year. In fact, he didn't dread anything about the lighthouse and it's border of jagged rocks and choppy waves as much as he once had.

In the days following Hannibal's proclamation of love, words were few between them. It was not that painful and suffocating silence that had tethered them before, but rather a slow, circling dance as they tested the new boundaries.

When Hannibal poured tea from the kettle in the morning, he would bring it to Will, and lay his hand softly on Will's shoulder. It was gentle, chaste almost, and someone else may not have taken notice. But the lingering touches grew longer and more frequent, and Will found himself not flinching from Hannibal's hand as he once had.

The truths were bubbling up between them, yet Will hardly dared to speak. The thoughts ran circles around his mind, each moment of the kiss replaying itself in his mind over and over again.

It terrified him.

Terrified him that such a man was in love with him. Terrified of the power Hannibal held over him. Terrified that after all Hannibal had done, Will might still reciprocate those feelings.

And yet, he had never felt so alive.

His blood jolted and danced through his veins at Hannibal's every glance. The graze of his fingertips on Will's shoulder left the skin burning as if it had been branded. His voice jarred to memory his passionate declaration of love. And when the darkness of the evening rushed in and he closed his eyes to sleep, this smallest disconnection lodged panic in his chest as the image of Hannibal's head disappearing beneath the waves seared through his brain.

As each day came and went, Will hoped that Hannibal would be the one to break the silence. He had no shortage of confidence despite Will's not entirely positive response to his confession. Will could see in his every glance that he ached to push farther, but he was holding back. Waiting for Will to make the next move.

One evening, Will tossed and turned in his bed for an hour after turning the lights off. The wind and waves outside the lighthouse seemed louder in the wake of his racing thoughts; he could hear the beat and howl like the thud of his heartbeat. And from the darkness across the room, he could sense Hannibal's eyes peering through the shadows.

“So, you're going to keep your promise.”

The words were out of Will's mouth before he could recall thinking of them.

From across the room, bed springs squeaked and the sheets rustled as Hannibal rolled over.

“Promise?” He asked.

Will clutched the sheets against his chest, and glared into the darkness above him.

“About not asking questions.”

“Yes, that one.” Hannibal murmured, “Would you like me to keep it?”

Will blew out a sigh before admitting, “Not entirely.”

Questioning silence filled the space between them.

“I can tell you want to break the promise.” Will said, “Questions are what you're good at … _Doctor_ Lecter.”

“Questions are easy.” Hannibal replied, “It doesn't require courage … or even honesty.”

“Not like answering them does.”

“You're one of the most courageous and honest men I know. It won't hurt you to answer my questions like you think it will.”

“It's hurt me in the past.”

The silence lengthened, and Will thought about reaching to turn the lamp on. He couldn't sense what Hannibal was thinking, only that he was curious.

“Perhaps you're hurting yourself now by not answering them.” Hannibal said, “Maybe it's time to speak the truth – the whole truth.”

“God, if we all spoke the truth in your presence, half the world would be dead.”

A low chuckle slithered through the darkness.

“Does that imply that your response won't be what I want it to be?”

“Is it ever?” Will asked. His throat tightened, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “Am I ever exactly as you need me to be?”

“You can't please everyone.”

“You're the only one I want to please.”

Tension leaked into the room as the words departed Will's mouth.

Will clamped his eyes shut, and dragged a coarse hand over his face. Heat seeped into his cheeks and seared into his palms, a tangible reminder that part of the truth had already come out.

Will heard Hannibal swallow thickly from across the room.

“Please me … how?”

Will released a shuddering sigh that echoed through the room. His palms rested sweaty and weighted against his cheeks in a theatrical pose of horror. The words rippled down his ears, burrowing themselves into his mind. He could image them like a gaudy anthem spray-painted onto brick, distinct, unavoidable.

“I'm afraid ...” He whispered. “Afraid I'm not who you want me to be … anymore.”

“Anymore?”

“After what you said. And how it pertains to me. After everything … I'm afraid accepting something like that would change me.”

Hannibal's response lagged into silence, and Will rushed to fill the silence.   
“I used to know who I was – or I was sure I knew. Now I'm not sure of anything, what I should do, how I should go on. I wonder if it would make me a different person. If laying aside years of bitterness and hatred for what some people might call love … I think it would make me weaker than I thought I was.”

“You're not weak. You're exchanging unhappiness for something better.”

“Then the past five years have been for nothing.” Will said, “Wasted effort, wasted emotions and tears and rage. If I had known this would be the outcome, maybe I would have done things differently.”

Hannibal was silent for a few long moments before he replied, “I, myself, have also acquainted myself with such a thought. The past is a tricky and often painful thing. Hindsight is clear and cruel. All the things we might have done – could have, would have, should have – and even worse, the things we _almost_ did. But, if you recall Will, you _almost_ killed me. I _almost_ killed you. Some things that didn't happen were for the better.”

“What about the things that did happen?”

“Our stories are written in the scar tissue and blood. If none of those things happened, we wouldn't be here, in this place, in this moment. I may not have kissed you. I may not feel about you the way I do right now.”

Will pushed up onto his elbows, and reached over to turn on the lamp, unable to bear the darkness standing between them any longer.

Yellowed light flooded the small room, illuminating Hannibal's figure sitting upright on the edge of his bed. His hands were folded loosely between his knees, but there was a predatory glint in his eye that bespoke both passion and peril.

“You mean, if you hadn't done all those terrible things to me, you might not love me the way you do right now?” Will asked, his voice a trembling whisper.

“From the moment I met you, I guessed what you were capable of.” Hannibal said. One finger strayed from the folded posture of the rest to point at Will. “What I saw was beautiful, but it was fragile and tender. I saw a diamond in the rough. You needed guidance, and I had what you needed to adapt, to evolve.”

“To become.” Will whispered.

“When you rose from the ground, bloody and victorious, with the Dragon's flesh and blood on your teeth, I knew that my diligence had not been in vain.”

“I was finally worthy of your love?”

“You were worthy from the moment I laid eyes on you.” Hannibal said, softly. “No, you were finally … ready for it.”

The admission struck Will's chest like a brick thrown through a window. He felt the impact down to the marrow of his bones.

“We've been here for a year.” Will said, his voice wavering, “Maybe you were wrong.”

“I waited in the Baltimore State Hospital for three; I could wait one more.” Hannibal said, a smile softening the corners of his mouth, “Do you think so little of my patience?”

Will swallowed against the clutch of emotion in the back of his throat. He'd spent those three years running as far as he could while Hannibal was trapped in time behind bars, awaiting his return. How silly he'd been to think he could stay away. They were as predictable as magnets, dragged to each other by a force beyond themselves. He'd been blind to think it could be any other way.

Hannibal rose to his feet, leaving the twisted sheets behind him. His hands fell limp at his sides, but his face was stony with determination.

The next few seconds stretched on in their own version of eternity as Hannibal's bare feet carried him in slow, deliberate steps across the room.

Will's fists dragged around the edge of the mattress, his heart drumming. The part of his brain written by horror and trauma told him to flee. The other part that had been awakened and fostered by gentle touch and warm conversation these past months begged for him to give this beast, this monster – this vulnerable, flesh-and-blood man – another chance.

Hannibal's feet shuffled to a stop in front of the bed. Will let out a shuddering breath as his chin tilted up to the stroke of Hannibal's fingers.

“There are yet some things I regret.” Hannibal whispered. “Things that still bring us both pain.”

Hannibal sank to his knees in front of Will. His hand lingered at Will's cheek a moment longer before dropping to clutch Will's hips.

Will blinked as the fragility and softness in Hannibal's eyes became clear. He let his feet slip over the edge of the bed with the gentle pull of Hannibal's hands around his hips. His fingers wrapped tighter around handfuls of the sheets, anchoring himself still as the wild beat of his heart set a tremor though every vein.

Hannibal's hand ghosted over Will's stomach, where only fabric separated his touch from the damage he'd done.

“May I?” He asked.

Will blinked. Breath lodged in the back of his throat as a cold shiver of anticipation worked it's way down his spine. The phantom pain of the knife slicing into him rared in the back of his mind.

He felt himself nodding. Christ, what was he doing?

Hannibal's nostrils flared over a shallow breath. Shifting closer, he gathered the hem of Will's shirt, and gingerly lifted it away from his bare skin. The shield of fabric departing vulnerable skin dragged every muscle in Will's body taut, yet he couldn't object.

Hannibal paused with the shirt held back against Will's ribs. His gaze dragged along the trembling plane of Will's belly, absorbing the fine hairs above the waistband of his trousers, the clench of a muscle just beneath soft skin, and finally, the crooked smile left by a long gone knife.

Will pursed back a whimper as Hannibal fingers uncurled and stretched toward the scar.

The first brush of Hannibal's fingertips shot a jolt of electricity through Will's skin. It rippled across his skin, burning from the point of origin and beyond like a path of gasoline. In the space of a second, he could recall every moment of that night, from the phone call, to the drench of rain, to the fear and horror, to the shock of seeing Abigail alive, to the gutting, and Hannibal's voice, trembling and vicious – _I let you know me, see me._

Will sucked in a shaking breath as tears rushed hot and stinging against his eyelids.

“Hannibal-” He choked out.

He twisted, suddenly desperate to escape Hannibal's touch. Desperate to purge those memories from his mind. He knew how they could poison him, how it was best to keep them buried. How they could poison this fragile moment that he wanted to breathe life into despite the warning signs and battle scars.

Hannibal's fingers wrapped tighter around his hip, pinning him against the bed.

His thumb followed the jagged path of the scar, stroking slow and methodical from tip to tip. His breath rustled loud through the silence, a few halting inhales followed by a weary exhale.

“When I shatter a teacup now ...” He whispered, “It's in hopes of pausing this moment. Or perhaps that we may gather it up in our minds, when reality can't possibly give us the mercy, the unattainable redemption we hope for.”

The words halted Will's struggling. He froze, hands wrapped around the sheets, belly trembling and collapsing beneath Hannibal's tender caress.

“You- … You regret it?” Will asked.

“In a theoretical, impossible way.” Hannibal said, “I wish for a better narrative to our story while being fully aware I can never change what is done … while looking at this mar upon your flesh and finding it so utterly beautiful.”

Will swallowed convulsively against the lump rising in his throat. Tears hedged just behind eyelids, aching to be free of the prison he'd kept them in so long.

“Every time I look at it, I remember.” He whispered, haltingly, “I can remember every detail, down to the blood stains on your shirt, and the texture of the fabric beneath my chin as you wrapped your arms around me.”

Hannibal's thumb paused against his skin, and his chin sank lower.

“I can remember how you smelled.” Will whispered, “The strength of your arms, holding me after the knife went in. The sharp, cruel pain, and how cold the knife was sinking into my gut – I didn't think it would be so cold.”

Hannibal's tongue clicked in a swallow, loud in the utter silence of the room. He drew in a shuddering breath, and withdrew his hand.

“Don't you remember?” Will asked, sniffing back tears.

Hannibal swallowed again, more desperately, tongue darting across his lips. He gave a clipped nod.

“For so long, I thought ending your life was the only …. logical alternative.” He said, his voice growing thin and choked around the syllables.

“Alternative? To what?”

Hannibal's eyes shifted up to meet Will's, revealing a sheen of tears.

“To allowing myself to be vulnerable to you.”  
Will's frown deepened as he searched Hannibal's expression for some sign of dishonesty. The cold, inhuman facade was gone, replaced by a trembling structure nailed together by agony and loneliness – about to collapse.

“I allowed myself small moments of weakness, imagining the various shields of the FBI of our differing worlds would keep me safe. There was some measure of control for a time, but in that moment when I pushed the knife into your belly, I knew...” Hannibal said.

“Knew what?”

“I would never be free of you. Florence is halfway around the world, but it wasn't far enough. I felt your pull, like the tide feels the magnetism of the moon. So, I drew you to me, leaving clues in my wake, knowing you wouldn't be far behind. You couldn't help yourself.”

“I was walking into a trap.”

“Eating you would have taken away your power.” Hannibal said, giving a stiff nod. “A proven method of … self-preservation, and maintaining autonomy.”

“When I found you in the Uffizi Gallery, I said 'you and I have begun to blur.'” Will said, “That's what scared you the most, wasn't it?”

Hannibal's head ducked, severing their gaze. He put a hand to his face, but Will heard no tears or sniffling. For several moments, silence waxed between them. When Hannibal's hand fell from his eyes, the soft, liquid quality in his eyes had changed to steel.

Will couldn't offer a single gesture or cry as Hannibal rose from his knees, and pressed his mouth hard over Will's. Will clutched at Hannibal's chest, barely fighting the momentum that carried them down against the mattress. Hannibal's body wedged between his legs, and his hands rose to claim Will's jaw. His fingers dug into Will's cheek, pinning him down against the sheets as his mouth stroked hungrily against Will's trembling, parting lips.

Paralyzed by shock and fresh revelations, Will lay limp beneath Hannibal's ravenous kiss for several moments before the reality of the moment caught up to his limbs. The quivering mass of sensations, smells, tastes, and emotions broke down into details, each one striking him with more exquisite pleasure than he could digest.

His fingers clamped around Hannibal's shirt, dragging Hannibal down tighter against him. One hand slid up the back of Hannibal's neck, and into his hair, delving upward to take hold at the crown. Hannibal gave a muted moan, followed by a gasp as Will nipped at his lower lip in response.

Hannibal pulled back, his eyes raking over Will's expression for context.

Will gazed at him coolly for a moment before allowing a smile to curl the corner of his mouth.

Hannibal blinked. “You bit me.” He said, struggling to remain reserved.

“It's not like last time.” Will panted, “I don't want you to stop.”

Hannibal hesitated only a moment longer before pressed his mouth back against Will's. In one long drag, he pressed his tongue past Will's lips, curled it along the interior, and finished with a flourish against Will's upper lip. The taste of his him was cataloged and memorized in Will's brain in the space of a second, and it took only one second longer for Will to realize he wanted so much more of it.

He surged up against the kiss only to be pressed back against the sheets by Hannibal's fingers wrapped around his jaw. Will moaned, his body falling limp as Hannibal took complete control of the kiss.

Hannibal rose between his thighs, and slid one hand down Will's chest and stomach to find the front of his trousers. Fine, silky fabric warmed and stretched over Will's swelling cock as Hannibal stroked lightly along the length.

Will's whimper of pleasure was muffled under the persistent stroke of Hannibal's mouth, but his hips bucked freely toward the fleeting caress. Flesh pumped and jolted against the satin pajama trousers, reaching for Hannibal's caress, for the promise of release. Will grabbed at Hannibal's chest to pull him closer to no avail; Hannibal knelt rigid above him, maintaining a slow, feather-soft touch against Will's clothed erection. Digging his feet into the mattress, Will thrust his hips toward Hannibal's palm with a grunt of frustration. A gasp expelled from his throat when this action finally garnered a response.

Hannibal's hands wrapped around his hips, shoving back them back down against the mattress. His mouth jarred from Will's, and he leaned back, panting in slow, deliberate exhales that gushed hot across Will's cheeks. In the dim light of the lamp, his eyes glinted deep brown that sparked with devious pleasure.

He reached a hand toward Will's face, and Will shrank down against the sheets, expecting a hand around his throat. Instead, his thumb grazed over the jut of Will's chin, and up against his lower lip. Eyes narrowing, he pushed the tip of his thumb past Will's trembling lip and inside, scraping the pad of his thumb across Will's bottom row of teeth.

Will gazed at him wide-eyed, absorbing the weight of Hannibal's thumb against his teeth and the taste of his skin. Slowly, he wrapped his lips around the thumb.

Hannibal's sigh of pleasure punctuated the silence. Eyes fluttering shut, he gaze a low groan in the back of his throat, more of a vibration than an exclamation.

Will sealed his lips around Hannibal's thumb, and gave an experimental suckle. Hannibal allowed his thumb to be sucked further into Will's mouth, past the ridge of knuckle to the slender middle just above the joint.

Hannibal's jaw muscles rippled and bunched, and his head ducked down against his shoulder. A low moan trickled past his lips. His thumb curled down against Will's tongue, and his fingers dug into Will's cheek.

Before Will could exert any more pressure, Hannibal ripped his hand from Will's face, and seized Will by the hips. Rolling Will onto his stomach, he pounced on Will's back.

Will's hand pawed helplessly against the sheets, as Hannibal's fingers delved into his nape, and pulled his head back, exposing his neck. Will clamped his eyes shut, heart tripping and clutching as the sharp press of a predator's teeth sank into his vulnerable flesh.

It wasn't until this moment, this raw clash of need and impulse, that Will realized he trusted Hannibal. Certainly not in the way most people expected in a relationship, but in that Will knew Hannibal didn't want to kill him any longer. The only physical peril that stood ahead was chafed lips, suck bruises, and aches in places that he couldn't recall.

Hannibal's mouth lingered just long enough to leave it's mark, and to claim it's territory. When he pulled back, Will lay trembling with blinding anticipation and adrenaline coursing through him. Casting a glance over his shoulder, Will saw Hannibal bent over him, a hand ghosting down the curve of his spine. The hem of Will's t-shirt, he gently lifted the material and dragged it up. Will arched to let the shirt ride up around his chest, and finally over his head when Hannibal gave one last pull.

The shirt fell over the side of the bed and landed with a soft rustle. The sound gave way to humming silence. Each moment expanded with growing needs and desires, each one sprouting and spawning new ones in their path. The single sight of Will's bare shoulders, and the arch of his spine left Hannibal silent and statuesque. Poised in a moment of reverence.

His fingers uncurled through the air, reaching for Will's skin. Their first brush between Will's shoulder blades was delicate, like practiced hands around breakable china. His fingertip slid along the ridges of spine, barely grazing the skin, but eliciting a shudder from deep in Will's belly.

Will pressed his face into the sheets, and dragged in a gasping breath. His desires raced and tripped over themselves in their eagerness, all of them spilling from his brain like an overflowing cup – and Hannibal touched him too slowly, too gently. The simple caress wasn't enough; no, his desires had teeth.

Will squeezed his eyes shut against the deluge of need pounding against his chest.

Hannibal's fingertips had nearly made it to the rise of his tailbone, but they stopped there, two fingertip side-by-side, as if he were taking a pulse.

Will cast an anxious gaze over his shoulder. Hannibal's eyes flicked up to meet his, and a smile touched his mouth. Bending over him, Hannibal smoothed curls back from Will's temple and ear, and placed a delicate kiss against the lobe.

“You're shaking.” He murmured, his breath hot and sweet against Will's ear.

Will swallowed against a dry throat, and pressed his eyes shut against a myriad of hasty responses.

“Are you afraid?”

Will shook his head, a response he could manage.

Hannibal kissed up the shell of Will's ear, and moved to the soft skin just behind it. He nuzzled downward, to curve of Will's jaw, and to the tender skin of his throat. His mouth found the wild beat of Will's pulse, and licked at it.

“You taste of … desire.” Hannibal whispered, his tone approaching self-satisfaction.

Will clenched in jaw, and sucked in a deep breath.

“Y-yes.” He whispered, “Yes, I … I need- I want ...”

“I know what you need.”

Will might have scoffed at that response only a month ago. In this moment, he was utterly relieved not to have to give voice to the desire coursing through his body.

“I won't ask again.” Hannibal added.

“Ask?”

“For permission.”

Will's eyes blinked open.

Before he could craft an equally confident response, Hannibal's mouth departed his neck, and his fingers wrapped around the waistband of Will's trousers. The silk peeled from his skin without resistance, and Hannibal plied the last thread from Will's body with a flick of his wrist.

Will let out a halting breath as the sense of exposure overwhelmed his desires. His chest tightened with diluted panic.

He wasn't ashamed of himself, or his body. He'd had sex with other partners many times before without any embarrassment. But this wasn't quite embarrassment; it was the thought that the final barrier between them was gone. Hannibal had stripped away everything else over the past several years; his body was the last thing to be surrendered – and he was giving it up without a fight.

The trickling sense of shame at his own weakness struggled to shore up his defenses for a few floundering moments before Hannibal's palms settled warm, strong, and beguiling on his body. They crept up the backs of his thighs, and paused just below his ass cheeks. Intentions simmered there in the palms of his hands; a threat or a promise, Will's blooming desire couldn't distinguish.

Will dragged the pillow to his face to muffle the erratic breaths halting from his lips. The pillow warmed quickly against his face as Hannibal's hands smoothed up over the curves of his cheeks, gathering the flesh away from his vulnerable hole.

Needles of anticipation and mounting shock rushed in waves down his body at the slightest puff of breath down the exposed crevice. He clamped his eyes shut, and breath locked in the back of his throat.

Hannibal's lips dragged against the ridge of his tailbone, leaving his skin damp and burning. His body pounded, conflicting urges to initiate more or to run leaving him rigid and quaking beneath Hannibal's languid ministrations.

The slick flick of Hannibal's tongue dragged a groan to the tip of his tongue. The sound came out withered and guttural into the pillow, and Hannibal's fingers arched deeper into fleshy undersides of his cheeks.

Tongue pressing lower, he quested to Will's clenching hole in a swirling pattern. The wet, writhing sensation jarred Will's frozen limbs into motion. With a ragged cry, Will bucked against the sheets in a clumsy attempt to escape the sensation.

Hannibal's hands locked around his hips, and dragged him back down against the sheets. He sank his fingers into Will's hair, pushing his cheek into the sheets. Will breathed hard, eyes darting over his shoulder to see Hannibal leaning over him. Hannibal's eyes pressed into Will's as he reached down to slide his fingers down into the cleft of Will's ass.

Will writhed, fingers tearing at the sheets as Hannibal's fingertips probed against his hole. They didn't press hard or rough, but the simple stroking and pressing drove Will's burgeoning need over the edge. He arched against the sheets, rutting his hard, throbbing cock into the fabric. Hannibal's hand stayed with his bucking body, but his fingers delved lower to wrap around Will's swollen balls.

Will gasped. His movements came to shuddering halt except for the begging arch of his hips toward the gentle pull of Hannibal's fingers.

“Oh ...” Will moaned.

Hannibal bent to press a kiss against his neck and jaw, breathing in deep the scent of Will's panicked need. His grip loosened around Will's balls, and his hand uncurled to rub the palm against them.

“Oh, god.” Will whined, grabbing at the sheets with shaking hands.

The pleasure heightened to dull, pounding ache low in his belly as Hannibal's palm moved in slow, deliberate circle, rolling Will's balls across the smooth and hard dips over the length of his hand. The massaging sent pangs of need through the sensitive flesh and into Will's throbbing cock. He could feel the pre-cum squeezing from the head and spilling into thin drips to the sheets.

Hannibal's fingers untangled from Will's hair and followed the arch of his spine as he leaned back to examine Will's raised ass. Uttering a low hum of appreciation, he leaned forward to impart a row of soft kisses down Will's lower back to the top of the cleft. He paused for a single moment, awaiting Will's response.

Will grunted a moaned, and shifted his hips toward the warmth radiating from Hannibal's mouth. Every muscle clenched as the heat moved closer, and Hannibal's mouth pressed against his hole.

“Hannibal ...” Will breathed out, his voice losing strength and fading to the high-pitched tremor.

Hannibal's lips caressed the puckering opening in an intimate kiss for a long moment, savoring his first taste. His tongue followed, circling the ring of clenched muscle and pressing up against it. Will's body clenched in involuntary response, but he rocked his hips toward the pleasing, velvet heat of Hannibal's tongue. It arched to meet his shallow thrusts, sweeping it's length up and down his hole. The rhythmic stroking purged the doubts that had followed him plunging headlong into the encounter, leaving him with his naked, throbbing desires. His moans rushed faster from his lips with each finishing flick of Hannibal's tongue, until his responses were nothing more than unintelligible whimpers between sharp gasps of pleasure.

Hannibal's satisfaction rumbled from his chest, vibrating into Will's tender skin. He pushed closer to Will's body, pressing his face fully into the warm cleft and baring his teeth. Will whined, arching at the scrape of teeth across his sensitized skin. The scrape lasted barely a second before Hannibal's lips wrapped around the quivering pucker of his hole, and clamped down tight. His hand ceased it's measured rubbing against Will's balls, only to unfurl to the bobbing, twitching length of Will's cock.

Will gave a guttural cry as Hannibal's fingertips brushed along the underside of his cock, all the way to the leaking tip. They felt along the rim of the head and to the small rift at the top where moisture dribbled. His thumb swept along the head, smearing pre-cum with a delicate touch all over the head.

Will's chest pounded as the ache built with even smallest of touches. He wanted to scream but his throat was frozen, his brain muddled with pleasure and helpless to do his own bidding. He gripped the pillow against his face, pulling it tighter to him with each throb that jarred his body.

Hannibal's mouth never let up against Will's hole while his fingers toyed with Will's cock. When he did lean back, his mouth was gleaming with saliva, his teeth glinting past a devious smile.

Will knelt in front of him, quivering and gulping back high-pitched moans, dripping pre-cum into Hannibal's waiting hand. He turned his face slowly from the pillow to meet Hannibal's gaze scouring his raised ass the curve of his spine. The gaze dropped the plump set of his balls, imprinting Will's skin with his satisfaction.

Will's fingers ached around the pillow, and his lungs burned from holding his mouth shut. He didn't quite think the dull, pounding ache of needing to come could be any stronger until Hannibal raised a fingertip to his saliva drenched hole.

“Oh, oh ...” Will began panting before Hannibal's fingertip touched him.

When it came to rest against his opening, he arched sharply toward the sheets. Hannibal's hand closed around his cock, firmly but gently guiding him back into position. The warmth and strength of his hand wrapping fully around Will's cock ignited fresh pleasure, and pushing Will towards the edge.

“Oh, god, please.” Will ground out, shoving his hips toward the firm grip of Hannibal's hand.

Hannibal's fist remained still as he pressed his fingertips to Will's hole.

Will stilled, his chest locking in anticipation. Every muscle in his body quivered with need as Hannibal's fingertip pushed past the first clench of muscle to the smooth, warm clutch beyond.

“Oh my god ...” Will whispered.

Hannibal's finger probed for a brief moment before arching down to find his prostate. With a few circular strokes of his finger, the pleasure dropped low and fast in Will's belly. It burst fresh and new inside him, a both intoxicating and shocking sensation that he had the first instinct to fight. But as Hannibal's other hand began to stroke around his cock, all logic and thought except for that of climax was pushed from his mind.

Both hands joined in a practiced rhythm, bearing the pleasure down on Will's weak, trembling body. Sticky moisture dripped from Will's cock in prelude, the aching arousal coming in waves that washed over his body faster and hotter with every stroke.

Gasping, Will froze with his hips straining toward Hannibal's caress. The pleasure rushed in quick and hard, splitting him down the middle, straight to the core.

“Oh my god, oh my god ...” The exclamation spilled from his lips, rising through the octaves as the pleasure erupted sweeter and stronger than he could ever recall feeling. His hips surged in ragged bursts toward Hannibal's persistent stroking as the spasms rolled deep and fast through his chest, down into his belly, and to his dripping cock.

For long moments his mind was a white canvas; gone was doubt and fear and second-guessing. The only picture scrawling across his mind was one of pleasure and contentment. That sweet, cold rush of air into your lungs when he step back from the edge.

As Will sank weakly to the sheets, a whimper nudged it's way to his lips. His body hummed a low, steady tune, and his muscles trembled, used and powerless.

A shadow fell across the pillow, and Will cracked his eyes open to see Hannibal hovering over him. Warmth rushed to his cheeks when he noticed Hannibal's pleased smile and the satisfaction dripping from every pore.

“How long have you wanted to do that?” Will murmured.

“Our first therapy session.” Hannibal said, easing down to the sheets beside Will. He propped one arm behind his head, smiling lazily at the ceiling. “I'd had sufficient time to analyze your behavior in our first meeting.”

“Our first meeting with Jack, when you psychoanalyzed me?”

“Yes, that one. Your impression remained in the back of my mind, gestating. When I was finally able to have you alone in room without anyone else interfering, I realized the discomfort I was feeling originated from something rather … unbecoming of a therapist.”

Will's bit back a grin as Hannibal's mouth twisted against a mischievous smile.

“So, why didn't you act on it?” Will asked.

“If I recall, you were in the middle of convincing yourself you were in love with Alana.”

“Weren't you confident enough in yourself to think you could snatch my attention away from her?”

Hannibal's expression sobered. Lifting his chin, he drew in a deep breath.

“I was … focused on other things when it came to therapy.”

“Right.” Will murmured.

“There's no point in questioning the past, of course ...”

Will hesitated for a moment before shifting closer to Hannibal. The smooth, warm curve of Hannibal's neck and shoulder invited him to rest his head, to sleep, to dream like he hadn't in years.

“Remember in Italy, when I was chasing you through the catacombs beneath the Norman Chapel?”

“How could I forget?”

“I said forgave you.”

Hannibal's tongue flicked against his lips. He gave a nod.

“I meant it … In that moment, I did. And maybe you were right; I forgive how God forgives, but that moment was genuine. Part of me wants to hate myself for trying to go back and swallow back down all the bitterness and anger.”

“Your anger was justified.”

“Not since we came here.” Will said, shaking his head. “I knew how I felt about you … probably since that night on the cliff, but I- … I convinced myself I was still confused and angry. It was the only thing I could be confident about, that I knew and understand everything about. I didn't want to wade out into the unknown waters, didn't want to face how this would make me feel.”  
Hannibal's eyes shifted to meet Will's. His lashes fluttered for a moment, pressing away the sheen of emotion.

“You knew.” He whispered.

Will nodded, swallowing back the lump in his throat.

“I was just … afraid.”

Hannibal reached out a hand to touch Will's cheek. His fingertips trailed down Will's jaw and throat, and hooked behind the back of his neck. Guiding Will down with a gentle pull, he pressed another kiss against Will's trembling mouth.

Will leaned into the kiss, moaning low as Hannibal's tongue eased his lips apart and flicked inside. He dragged one hand down Hannibal's chest in search of warm skin and clenching muscle. His fingers ached with fresh hunger as they sought below the sheets to the throbbing warmth swelling between Hannibal's thighs.

Hannibal's breath caught in the back of his throat as Will's hand paused low on his belly. He teeth slipped against Will's lower lip, clinging for a brief moment before he pulled back. Arousal colored his cheeks glowing rose, and his eyes slipped half-shut and hazy.

Will plunged his hand lower, encountering the elastic band of Hannibal's trousers. Delving his fingers against the soft flesh of Hannibal's belly, he worked his hand underneath the trousers and toward the exquisite heat radiating below. Stretching out his fingers, he found the hard, warm flesh writhing and aroused. It reacted to Will's touch with a jolt of need, pulling a low whimper from Hannibal's mouth. He clutched onto the back of Will's neck as Will wrapped his fingers fully around the throbbing girth, and gave it languid pull.

“Will...” The sound came breathy and choked to Hannibal's tongue.

Will bit his lower lip in concentration, and flicked an anxious gaze to Hannibal's lax expression. His touch was slow, if not clumsy, but if Hannibal's open mouth and rolled back eyes were any indication, he was doing just fine. Emboldened, Will dragged his hand in lavish strokes up and down, allowing his fingers swallow the head, and stretch back foreskin when they retreated.

Hannibal's hips twitched and strained toward the caress, hastening each deliberate stroke. Will's name hung on his lips, trickling into the air between thready moans and shallow gasps.

When Will's ministrations paused, his eyes darted open, hunting for the source of the delay. The indignation sprouting in his gaze came to an abrupt halt as Will threw back the sheets, and rose to his knees over Hannibal's sprawled posture.

Will kept his gaze pinned to Hannibal's expression of growing amazement as he crawled between Hannibal's knees. Prowling forward, Will wrapped his fingers around the front of the fine, silk trousers and peeled them back from Hannibal's erection.

Hannibal rushed to lift his hips and allow the pants to glide down his calves and from his ankles. The moment the waistband departed his toes, he stretched his legs apart, and cast Will a smoldering gaze that held both a demand and plea.

Dragging his gaze down Hannibal's chest and stomach, Will latched onto the view of Hannibal's hard, dusky cock lying in displeased, throbbing anguish against his hip. He crawled closer, extending a hand toward the swollen head, where pink, dabbed with a bead of moisture, swelled past foreskin. His thumb brushed against the rim of the head and slipped over the tip, finding the tiny opening wet with pre-cum. His thumb came away glistening, leaving Hannibal's cock bobbing with the force of his trembling.

“Will ...”

Will's eyes darted back to Hannibal's at the sound of his name coming from him in a soft, aching tone.

Sliding his fingers around the head, Will stroked down the shaft to the base. He leaned closer, bringing his mouth within inches of the head, letting his breaths stroke the tender flesh. Hannibal's head tilted back against the pillow, exposing his throat as a moan vibrated from his chest. His hips urged closer, and his belly drew taut in anticipation.

Licking his lips, Will brought Hannibal's cock to his mouth. The flesh was hot and rigid against his tongue; it's weight and thickness quickly filled his mouth as Hannibal's hips rocked toward the inviting warmth. Clutching the base, he drew back to catch his breath, and to catch a glimpse of Hannibal's expression. It was taut with longing, his cheeks tinged bright pink, his mouth open and gasping. One hand quested through the air to find the crown of Will's head, and entangle his fingers in the air.

Will allowed Hannibal guide his mouth back down over his cock, this time to the back of Will's tongue. Will breathed hard through his nostrils as Hannibal moved his head up and down at a quick, shallow pace. Saliva pooled at the back of his tongue and spilled down the shaft, past his lips. He could see it dripped down to where his fingers clutched the base with just enough resemblance to release to make him moan.

He could taste the salt of Hannibal's arousal, knew it wouldn't be long; and despite all the long, cold days that stood behind them, he had no desire to extend the encounter any longer than their lonely, aching bodies wanted. The days that stood ahead of them held light and color, potential and warmth; exploration was for those days of the future. Tonight was for finally letting go.

Will suckled harder on Hannibal's cock as the moans spilling from Hannibal's mouth reached a fever pitch. The trembling that had started in his belly spread out to his chest and limbs, dragging his fingers taut around Will's hair, the other around a handful of bed sheets.

“Oh … oh ...”

Will moaned his appreciation into Hannibal's slick, throbbing cock as Hannibal's grunts and groans frayed away into high-pitched whimpers.

“Will!”

The exclamation reached Hannibal's mouth just as his body went rigid. Will pulled back as thick, warm release began to gush from the tip, but Hannibal's fist locked tighter around his hair. He wrapped his hand over Will's, forcing it into motion around his cock. Will followed Hannibal's hand up and down the shaft, clamping his eyes shut as their collaborative efforts had come splattering his lips and cheek and running down his chin.

He kept his eyes shut until Hannibal's frantic moans dwindled away into silence, and his fingers pried away from Will's. Will cracked his eyes open to see his hand still wrapped around Hannibal's wilting cock, all of it a sticky, gleaming mess of come.

Hannibal had retained an expression of serene composure.

“Stay here. I'll be right back.” He said.

Will stayed in his kneeling position on the bed as Hannibal walked across the hall to the bathroom. Water ran from the tap for a few moments before the floorboards creaking announced Hannibal's return.

Will grimaced a smile as Hannibal came back into view, holding a damp towel. He climbed on to the bed in front of Will, and cradled the back of his head with one hand. With the other hand, he brought the towel to Will's cheek, and carefully cleaned away the streaks of release.

“I apologize.” He said, “It wasn't my intention.”

“Sure.” Will said.

Hannibal's mouth twitched against a smile as he dragged the towel over and underneath Will's chin.

“You know,” Will said, reaching out to catch Hannibal's wrist, “I don't mind.”

Hannibal paused from cleaning Will's face to offer a warm smile. “No?”

“No, I … I've never experienced it before, and I didn't think I would like it but – uh … yeah, I think I do.”

“Did you think you wouldn't like a lot of things before tonight?”

“If you mean to ask if I've never been with another man before, the answer is no.”

Hannibal's eyebrow flicked upward.

“What do you think about me?” Will asked, a smile tugging at his lips. “Whatever it is, I'm not virgin, Hannibal.”

“A pity.” Hannibal murmured as he resumed his cleaning.

“Why?”

Hannibal's gaze was intent on wiping Will's cheek clean.

“I had plans – not for tonight of course, but for some other night.”

Will swallowed, thickly. “Of taking my virginity?”

“Mmm, there's something poetic … or rather erotic to soiling that which was once pure, isn't there?”

“I think it's unbecoming of a therapist, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal chuckled. He dropped the rag to his lap, and touched Will's damp cheek with his thumb. “I should have known. Something so beautiful can't be that pure.”

Will ducked his head away, feeling the heat rushing to his cheeks.

Hannibal folded the towel, and put it on the bed side table. Leaning back against the pillows, he waved a hand to the sheets beside him.

Will crawled down to his side, and settled down with a sigh.

Hannibal reached up to the turn the lamp off, descending the room into darkness. Sight was snatched away, leaving them with only sound and texture. The roar of the ocean beyond, and the howl of the wind gusting against the tiny fortress rose to compete against pounding hearts and racing minds.

“We're going to have a long talk about this later, aren't we?” Will whispered into the darkness.

“Yes.” Hannibal murmured. “But not tonight.”

 


	5. An Epilogue: A Stone As Small As A World And As Large As Alone

He drifted awake like a bear creeping from hibernation to a content world of light and summer. The sunlight drifting in twinkling shafts past the curtains was a welcome respite from the endless nights, and despite the world being the same as yesterday, it felt wholly different.

He rolled over, one hand seeking across the mattress for the warm body that had kept him company through the night. As his hand patted across cold, empty sheets, his eyes jarred open.

Sitting upright, he scanned the room for any sign of Will, but the bedroom was empty.

Hannibal tossed back the sheets and rose from the bed with the objection of his muscles which had not yet awakened. There were twinges and aches these days, some from old wounds, others simply from age. He refused to acknowledge them, especially today when the singing warmth of youth was raucous in his veins.

Grabbing his robe from the armoire, he left the bedroom in search of Will.

The rooms were empty, but in the kitchen, he found half a pot of tea, still warm.

Going to the front door, he peered out the small window at the top to see the rocks and the edge of the cliff just in front of the lighthouse. Will's figure stood at the edge, his head ducked against the wind, his hands deep in his pockets.

Hannibal marched back to the bedroom to find suitable clothing. When he was dressed in slacks and a sweater, he grabbed his coat from by the door, and stepped out into the biting cold.

Wind rushed in from the sea, carrying the sound of the tide and the fresh, sweet scent of salt water. The air seeped through the fleece lining of his coat as he strode across the rocks toward the edge of the cliff.

“Will?”

Will's head darted up. For a breathless moment, Hannibal expected to see tears in his eyes. Instead, Will's mouth turned up in a smile.

“Hey,” Will said, “Sorry for getting up. I woke up with a lot on on my mind.”

“It's quite all right.” Hannibal said.

He let out a measured breath so as not to reveal the fear that had clutched him at the sight of Will standing at the edge.

“Are you looking for the answers to all your questions in the sea?”

“Who was it that said whatever we lose, we always find ourselves in the sea?”

“Cummings.” Hannibal replied, “After all your times spent here, what reflection do you see now?”

“My own. More honest and clear than I've ever seen before.” Will whispered.

“And that surprises you?”

“It does … actually.”

“I thought giving myself to you completely would wash away what little was left.” Will said, his voice so quiet it nearly blended into the song of the sea and the rushing wind.

“But you gave in anyway.”

“In that moment, I thought I didn't have a choice.” Will said, “I thought that I'd never had a choice when it came to you.”

“We always have a choice.”

Will's eyes remained trained on the horizon as he gave a slow nod. Hannibal watched the subtle nuances that flitted across his face, like shadows in a dimly lit room. When Will's eyes shifted from the ocean, they were pale green and blue, light and piercing through Hannibal's skull.

“Standing here, I can remember all the turns I made to get to this point.” Will said, “I can remember what I was thinking, and all my motivations in the space of a second. They're locked up in memory palace, just like you taught me.”

“And what do you see?”

“I could have made a right turn, but I made a left.” Will said, “I could have run, but I kept circling back to you.” A frown curled his brow as tears gathered like tiny jewels at the corners of his eyes. “I don't know who I am without you. I can't remember what it was like to not have your voice in my head and …” The words choked off as he dragged both hands over his face. The next admission came low and muffled, “And … I don't _want_ to remember.”

Hannibal drew in a shivering breath, and lifted his chin against the bloom of warmth and elation that filled his chest. Will's tenderness bled into the air, luring him closer and kindling a hunger in his belly. The dull thudding in his veins was that of primal possessiveness, a need to take and mark now that Will had finally stopped running.

“If you stay, it won't be easy.” He said.

Will dragged his hands from his face, and cast Hannibal a defeated gaze. “If?”

“I won't make assumptions of your desires despite last night's events-”

“Staying isn't one of many options – it's the only option.” Will interjected with a wry, coarse chuckle.

“And what of last night's events?” Hannibal asked.

Will drew in a deep breath. His tongue curled along his lower lip as he concentrated on the rocks at his feet.

“Last night.” He echoed.

“Yes.”

“Intimacy between us … frightens me.” Will said, his voice dragging through each word in a low tremble. “More than threats of death and pain ever did.”

“Don't you think me capable of it? Of gentility and tenderness?”

“You proved yourself more than capable.” Will said, his gaze snapping to Hannibal's, “What scares me is that I didn't recognize that person. I didn't recognize _you_.”

Hannibal allowed the sound of the wind to fill their silence as he watched the thoughts shift across Will's face. The truths nestled there, just behind his eyes, searching for the right escape from his lips.

“I can remember that side of you when we first met.” Will said, “But I came to realize it was just a mask. It wasn't real. My definition of you was cruelty and pain.”

“It is real.” Hannibal said, “Have you considered that you've changed me, perhaps more than both of us cared to admit before now?”

“But there's things about you that will never change.”

“Among them being you.” Hannibal said, “My needs for you are not defined by the binary rules of love and romance that the world adheres to, but however complex they may be, you are vital.”

Will lips quivered, and his eyes darted away for a long moment. His voice came soft and shuddering, barely audible above the wind. “Are you … are you saying that you're in love with me?”

Hannibal laid his hand softly on Will's shoulder, guiding him away from the edge of the cliff. Will's chin lifted, his eyes seeking wide and hopeful to Hannibal's as Hannibal slid his hand to the back of his neck, pulling him close.

Hannibal bent his head to Will's cheek, dabbing a kiss against his wind-chafed skin and nuzzling down against the warm curve of his neck. Drawing in a deep breath, he let his mind swim in the momentary flood of Will's familiar scent.

Will's hand fluttered against his chest, and snagged onto the lapels of his coat. Rock shifted and ground beneath his feet as he shifted closer, bringing their bodies flush in a trembling embrace.

“In many ways, I tried to tell you.” Hannibal whispered against Will's neck.

Cradling Hannibal's cheek, Will nudged his head up so their eyes could meet.

“I wish I could go back-” Will began.

“No.” Hannibal said, bringing his fingers to Will's lips. “The answers are not to be found in the past. We are here now – together.”

Will twisted his chin away from Hannibal's fingers, and lunged forward to press a kiss to Hannibal's mouth. Their wind-chilled lips met, caressing in long, languid strokes, savoring each second.

Drowning in Will's scent and taste, and the pulsing warmth of his body, Hannibal felt himself plunge into oblivion, into sweet, dark abandon. Time slowed to a crawl, each second it's own, secluded infinity; each second coming to a close sweeter than the last.

When Will gently broke the kiss, Hannibal opened his eyes to find himself clinging to Will, trembling and helpless as a newborn.

Will let out a soft, broken chuckle as a sheen of emotion filled his eyes.

“I see.” He whispered, “I finally see.”

Hannibal swallowed thickly as he searched for an appropriate response, but his mind was like a soft and quiet field of wildflowers, too delicate and young for words. He pressed another kiss to Will's mouth instead, hands clutching at Will's cheeks in a desperate rush to ensure this moment was real.

Will pulled back again, and leaned his forehead against Hannibal's. They rested there in silence for several long moments as their pounding hearts eased into comfort, and the ocean swelled below them.

At length, Will spoke in a radiant whisper, “You know, what has changed?”

“Mm?” Hannibal murmured.

“This view.”

Hannibal opened his eyes to see Will gazing out at the ocean and sky that met somewhere in the vast distance.

“It doesn't scare me anymore.” Will said, “It's just a view.”

“A rather breath-taking one, at that.”

“I don't want to see it anymore.”

Hannibal scanned the width of the horizon at a methodical pace, critically taking in the serene, blue waves and the pale sky overhead, both stark in comparison to the black sand at their edge.

“Where would you like to go?” He asked.

“I want earth.” Will whispered, “Trees. Warm evenings. Summer rain. The sound of life around me. I don't want to feel like the last two people alive anymore.”

“I have a few places in mind.” Hannibal said, “I can make the arrangements within a few weeks.”

“What about the police?”

“We've been here long enough, I think.”

A smile tugged at Will's mouth, the first real one Hannibal had glimpsed in some time.

“I think so too.” He said.

“Shall we go in?” Hannibal asked, “It's cold.”

Will nodded, “I'm ready.”

Keeping his hand steady against Will's lower back, Hannibal led them away from the edge.

Their departure left the cliff alone to face the howl of the wind and the beat of the tide as the sun crept along the edge of the horizon, and plunged this small corner of the world into darkness. Unsettled by the wind and time, a jagged piece of rock fell from the cliff's edge and made a quick, silent descent to the water below. It was swallowed by the waves and carried somewhere far away; in time, it's brothers that still clung to the earth above would forget it's existence, and the world would carry on as if it had never been there at all.

 

~the end~

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [Tumblr!](http://clairehales.tumblr.com//)!


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